Balls, Bones, and Bullets

Last night, I had two really disturbing dreams. In the first, I dreamt that I was diagnosed with testicular cancer and leukemia. A double whammy. I had to make the decision as to whether I would start chemo right away or wait a month or two and give all my alternative health methodologies and theories a try. You know, walk the walk and all that. Then I woke up and had to pee.


I went back to bed and promptly had another dream where I was in an Old West Hatfield-and-McCoy type of feud, though I didn't particularly want to be on either side. We ended up in a big shootout, and my side retreated to an old cabin. Then we ran out of bullets and realized that the guys outside shooting at us would soon realize this and come in and shoot us, or else just set the cabin on fire and burn us out. Then I woke up to pee again. Saved by the bladder twice in one night. Guess that's another upside to being so well hydrated.

I really got to thinking about this today, especially in light of Wednesday's financial death probe. Two consecutive dreams in which I was effectively handed a death sentence...what is my id trying to tell me here? Maybe I really should try to work that one out. Get out the Martha Beck books or something. Or maybe it was just something I ate.