This morning, I awoke from a nightmare. My son and I and the cats were hiding in my childhood home in the woods. We couldn’t leave, couldn’t get away, because of the T-Rex hunting us.*
One of the ways I had tried to get us out was raising a T-Rex to defend us, but the larger one killed her.
The dream ended with us huddled in the bathroom (the only room without windows) as the T-Rex was breaking into the sun porch.
At least there were no assholes in the dream, telling me that T-Rexes are hoaxes, that we should let them kill the weak and slow, that Trump did a great job because he banned T-Rexes from one country, while ridiculing those citizens who set up T-Rex defenses . . .
*T-Rex was likely a scavenger, but it makes sense that a dream set in a childhood home would have my childhood beliefs about paleontology.
