Nightmare

Late breaking news reports that up to ten golfers -- really big ones, including Cameron Smith, who just won the (British) Open (and, when asked about the rumor he's jumping ship, got offended at The Media in a way that all golfers in that sportswashing league has perfected to a tee -- are headed to the LIV golf tour (as soon as tomorrow/Tuesday but possible by Labor Day), and it was news I read just before heading to bed.  Well, I have said that many of my nightmares are fueled by things that happened to me the day before that nightmare, and I have to include that here.

I don't remember the specifics, but eventually a couple of women came around to the place I was at (I can't remember if it was a residence, but it was a place I felt was home and "mine," and it was outdoors, so ... maybe it was a houseboat?) and declared that everyone who was at this place left and joined the LIV tour.  I was alone.  And then I felt that familiar feeling in my nightmares about needing to run away but not being able to.

I was headed toward a door.  I don't think I was walking normally; I might have had my feet tied or something.  I opened that door but couldn't go through it.  I think it was higher, and so I had to jump to get through it, and I couldn't.  But there was a little space right next to it that was open; I just had to crouch, then extend myself through this hole, then shimmy to get the rest of my body in there.  And I started doing that ... and then I woke up and realized I had my head off my pillow, about to hit the wall with my noggin.

I don't ever remember waking up to a motion because of what I was dreaming.  Weird.

Maybe I should stop drinking so hardcore.  Maybe that's it.