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This is the first time I have gone to the Renaissance Festival and not come back with some kind of interesting story.

That is what I get for going dressed as a Goth instead of a wolf. People at these things expect Goths. They don’t expect wolves.

That is really all I have to say about my day, although…I suppose I shall also note that I have been having a series of dreams that I cannot remember, but upon waking, I retain the impression that I have been having a very in-depth conversation with someone, and that I wasn’t actually done talking to them, and feel resentful about my waking.

The frustrating bit is the most fleeting sensation that I know who I am talking to…but I cannot be sure.

I almost wept the other day, thinking of such a conversation (the fact that I have been genuinely thinking about it is what makes me assume I know what is going on in these dreams…but I am still skeptical, since I am one of those individuals whose waking life only rarely affects their dreams), and how I would in all probability avoid actually conversing, if the opportunity arose (which, incidentally, it cannot–one can’t converse with the dead in that manner, no matter how many Ouija board testimonials one reads), but…I could have shared my cheese crackers. I love my cheese crackers as much as anyone. But I would gladly have given up a box of them and sat in companionable silence.

Since that is what I would likely do, despite the apparent need that my subconscious self has to converse at length (and then attempt to conceal the conversations from me after the manner of a person who closes the windows on their computer when you walk past…).

Dreams are a nuisance.

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