i am a troubled sleeper. this goes one of three ways: either i sleep with deceptively glorious ease or i do not sleep or i sleep and have freakishly bad dreams.
vivid, bloody, csi-style dreams. with elaborate backstories and gruesome montages where there blood spatters in slow motion to a soundtrack suitable for soft-core porn.
for example, last night i dreamt that the members of the winning 1966 superbowl team were being systematically murdered and that murals of their faces were being erected in the windows of a deserted building located at the corner of madison and danny thomas boulevard in memphis, tennessee.
i try not to read meaning into this. try not to see things that are not there. instead, i just accept that i have seen the preview for i am number four far too many times.