Three nights, three nightmares. I don't welcome this condition, but I'd gotten so used to it since childhood that after their disappearance for the last two months, I'm actually relieved they're back:
In prep for St. Patty's, I guess, I dreamed last night that I was at a haunted house. There were woods outside, from which I heard a faint sound of bagpipes, supposedly from the ghost of the Irish inhabitants of the house 100 years ago.
The night before last, I was leading my family in some ritual or spell that was going to destroy the world.
I don't even remember the one from the night before that, but I woke up winded and sweating. (I hope I hadn't actually been running around in my sleep. I was on Long Island in a hotel, and scantily clad...)
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