I still have to blog about Boston. But let me just say, it was a great trip. Pictures to come soon, because they make me giddy.
Umm . . . so I have some crazy dreams. Anyone who knows me knows this. Sometimes they are Harry Potter-awesome. Other times they are as crazy as Willy Wonka.
And--more often than you'd think--they are morbid.
When I tell people this, they usually say: "Sweet little Megan, morbid?"
Well, it's true folks. 11 out of 10 Freudians agree that my subconscious is fascinated with morbidity.
My Cambridge buddies remember that weird avant-garde dream with pineapples and head-mashers, right?
Yeah. Last night's dream was even worse. Hard to believe, I know.
But can you say concentration camp and blood-saturated grass?
It was terrible.
Any suggestions on what I should do to avoid morbid dreams? Any idea why they keep happening?