Late last night, around 10pm, I decided that I would listen to some tunes. My most recent rediscovered discography is, PUSA, also known as the Presidents of the United States of America. They are punky but don't take themself seriously and they have a lot of great songs. I was headbanging to some of these beloved classics such as: Kitty, Volcano, Lump and Peaches, just to name a few and I really enjoyed myself.
Well, the wife is nocturnal and she stays up very late. I decided, against my better judgement, to lay downstairs and watch T.V. with her until I got tired. Bad mistake. First, my neck was a little sore from all the head banging and then I fell asleep there on the floor with a thin duvet cover over me.
In the night I had a dream. I cannot remember too many details but what I do remember is that, in the dream, I died. Now, I have been chased by murderers with kitchen knives, attacked by Batman in my basement (he was hiding in a laundry hamper and when I walked by he jumped out at me) and fell countless miles only to wake up before I hit earth but I have never, ever dreamed that I died. So, you can imagine this was a little odd for me.
The only other detail about the dream I remember was that I was angry at the fact that no one seems too concerned over my demise. I was just lying there in peaceful, eternal sleep watching everyone around me going about their daily business as if nothing were amiss.
When I woke up I was freezing cold and my neck ached. The dream replayed in my mind and all I could think about was how selfish I was that I wanted others to suffer from my death. Why couldn't things be like they were in the dream. People could celebrate my life and not mourn my passing. According to my wife, that's what the Irish do (or is it Catholics? Maybe both, I don't remember).