Long, complicated dream about my own impending death last night. In the manner of dreams, I have lost much of it already after waking, but the last bit remains.

I was preparing to leave this world, but for some reason I was dressed in motorcycle armor, and my death was a quest from which I would not return. I was wandering around trying to say good-bye to people I cared about, having just escaped some now-lost-to-memory threat earlier in the dream, when I realized that @jackwilliambell was following me with a pistol in his hand.

Confronting Jack, I told him to either go ahead and shoot me, or help me out. He decided to help me.

We were trying to get into the campus of a high school endowed by the late Dave Thomas, founder of Wendy’s. I had a bag of fish-shaped cookies I wanted to give to someone, anyone, I knew to pass on as my farewell offering to my circle of friends. But Jack and I couldn’t find our way to the front gates. Eventually we climbed some fences before trying to blend in with the student population.

I finally found @MartiMcKenna wandering around campus with some large, hunky young dude she was totally in to. I could barely get her to pay attention to me, but I finally got here to accept my fish cookies. Which her hunky dude promptly started eating.

Somewhere in there I woke up.

As usual, I don’t have much problem deconstructing my dreams. I went to boarding school when I was a kid. Dave Thomas supported adoption causes, and the_child is adopted. Marti and Jack are both beloved friends of long standing associated with the writing community. I am in fact dying. Not so sure about the motorcycle armor or the fish cookies, come to think of it, other than some obvious Christian imagery around Communion, which seems remarkably egotistic, even for me in the privacy of my own dreams.

But weird and sad and amusing all at the same time. As with much of the rest of my life.