My nightmare

Betsy's post reminded me that I had a pretty crap dream of my own yesterday morning. It was really weird. Paul and I were walking around a museum or something, and when we walked out the door, we were on a high terrace around the building. There was another terrace below, but no stairs down. No rails either. The next platform did slowly loop down to the ground, which I could barely see. We were really high up, and in a jungle or something.

I started ranting about the lack of stairs, and Paul defended the museum's design and said that I had to get over my fear. I forget exactly what I was supposed to be afraid of. The height didn't bother me. I didn't want to jump down, but that was because of jumping down off of things being hard on my knees. Paul scoffed and said it was only three feet and jumped down. He was at least a head below me, so it was more than three feet, but I didn't think of that in the dream. I was angry, but I followed him. As I landed, my foot slipped off the terrace. I managed to grab onto a door handle, but then the door started to swing out, so I was still falling. I was clinging there, begging Paul to help me and half-panting, half-crying. He refused and said that it was something I had to do myself.

I pulled myself up then stormed away. Then I woke up.

I think Betsy's dream was definitely worse, though. Even though Paul was being a dick, he still knew who I was. *shudder* High School again. Betsy's right about that, too. I wouldn't want to go back for fear of changing something. I'm happy just as I am, too.