Last night I dreamt like a dog. Running in my sleep. I wasn't running through a field chasing rabbits in my dream. That would have been a welcome alternative.
My dream included me running – with my still-broken ankle and in my air cast - to keep up with my whole family trying to get somewhere. We were rushing through a crowd until suddently, they all started running in front of me. If I didn't keep up, I would have lost sight of them. In my dream, this would have been a bad thing. In real life, not so much. Anyway, I ran. When we reached the final destination, I was pissed at them and said so. Oops, we're sorry, we forgot, was the collective reply.
I have friends who study dreams. But I don't think I need any consultation for this or the other reality-based dreams I've been having recently. The stress of a couple of work situations, along with my broken ankle and blood clots seem to be all jammed up inside my brain, and I am regularly dreaming of scenarios in which they hamper my activities in some way.
At least I'm doing better than this poor pooch.
Abbe's Road 