Sarah had a late night, and dreams haunt her.

I stayed up late last night.
Why, you ask?
Well, I was watching CommunityChannel on YouTube.
Yup.
Until 2:30 am.
I really need a life.

Anyways, post-MJ sadness is still a bit dark for me.
It almost doesn't feel real.
It feels like I'm going to wake up and laugh at how stupid my dreams are.
And how random.
But, alas, the sun will never shine again.

But really, my dreams are weird.
Usually depressing for me, but incredibly hilarious to others.
In the fact that they laugh at the so-called pain I possess through them
For example, last night I had a dream that we went to the airport for our Kauai trip,
and I forgot Kris. Brought Adam, but not Kris.
This is extremely dreadful because it may be just a silly doll, but I love that thing. And the fact of going on a trip without it is heartrending.
How would my life go on?

Earlier in the dream, there was a rebroadcast of the American Idol finale, only it wasn't.
This time they were playing lacrosse in the rain.
Why, you ask? I have absolutely no fucking idea. Perhaps I might have heard something about lacrosse the other day, and it leaked into my mind.
My brain is insane.

Then even EARLIER in the dream, I was in the movie theatre enjoying a movie.
When all of the sudden, these guys in the back start making fun of this guy in a Power Rangers costume.
Why Power Rangers? Beats me. Perhaps it's because there are PowerRanger-esque outfits on Gaia that just came out. Who knows?
But anyways, the guy gets up and I'm thinking, Oh, maybe he is going to go complain, but no. He gets up, gets out a gun, and proceeds to fire away.
My father signals me to go down in my seat to avoid being shot, so I do.
Then this alarm goes off and these guys in colourful suits come out to take him away.
I then forgot what movie I was seeing.

The point to all of this ranting and raving is my dreams... are never normal.
Seriously. Once I had a dream my mother had to amputate her legs, and we kept them!
That's not even the weird part, randomly, these legs would catch fire, and my father would say, "C'mon, kids, time to get the bucket."
I must have had a strange childhood or an imagination above comprehension.
Anyway... in conclusion, if you no longer wish to be fascinated with stories of my dreams, never sleep over at my house.