By all rights, it should have been a good weekend. We both had July 4th off, and spent the day messing around with various flow toys in the backyard. There were fireworks, and burgers, and sunshine. We had easy shifts on Friday; he worked a half-day on Saturday, and I did a half-day on Sunday.…
Sunday nights are usually the worst for me. I don’t know if it’s the anxious anticipation of starting yet another workweek, or the realization that another weekend is over. Whatever the reason, Sunday nights are terrible. Sometimes, it’s the dreams. There’s always a mixture of fear and anxiety, maybe a dash of grief and sadness…
I’ve been on a streak where I’ve been not only having really vivid dreams, but also remembering them. Most of the time, we’ll exchange our morning pleasantries, telling each other about whatever dreams we can remember and commiserating about restless sleeps and how often each of us got up in the middle of the night…