there's a first for everything...

so i never planned on blogging. ever. but i decided that no one is probably going to read it anyways, so this was just a good way to get my thoughts out without having to write it by hand.

first thought for the blog....hmmm...this should be epic or something. eh. it's too early in the morning and i'm super sleepy, so instead, i'm just going to post a dream i had the other night.

this is based in the same basic time setting as braveheart. the dream starts off with an evil lord, who is trying to make my family and i pay a debt on our land from exhorbitant taxes. however, we can't afford the taxes because we are poor, so the lord throws us in prison. and the prison is this awful, stereotypical prison that is stone with big iron bars, a dripping roof, and rats. somehow, my family and i escape, but there was this irish family that i had grown close to in the next cell over. so i try and break them out too.

they had been put in prison for debt as well, but the husband had been put in a different cell because he killed a guard who had tried to hurt his family. anyways, i manage to break the wife and her kids out of their cell and we run to the husband's cell as fast as we can to get him out. at this point, my perspective changes, and i become the irish wife.

(as the irish wife) i come to my husband's cell and he runs to the door and holds me through the bars and kisses my forehead. i have a baby in my arms and our four year old son's hand in my hand. my husband is this huge burly man that's really muscular with long blondish hair and he's wearing a roman skirt thing and a sack slung over his left shoulder. but he's crying because he's so relieved that i'm safe. for some reason though, i look at him and am horrified. i step back and shake my head real slowly from side to side and i tell him, "you weren't just protecting us. you aren't the man i married. you're....you're a monster now. i can't have you around me and my children. don't try and find us." and so i ran out of the prison with my kids and brett (my usual self, when i'm not an irish woman with children). my perspective changes again, and i become the burly husband.

(as the burly husband) i'm still crying, and shocked at what happened. i take a few shocked stumbling steps backward toward the stone corner of my cell. and then i hear a laugh. it's this nasty low, devilish laugh. and the prison guard, who is also the evil lord, comes into my cell. he's this bald guy who's kinda buff. he's just laughing as if he saw the whole scene just play out, and he's enjoying it. suddenly, somehow, i have a dagger in my right hand, and the bottom half of a sword that has been broken in my left hand. so i charge at him and cut off his lower half. now he's just laughing at me from a torso. and then i rip his insides out so that there's a huge triangle taken out of his torso. he's literally just a pair of shoulders, a neck, a head, and a little bit of his ribs.

but he's still laughing at me. and saying, "you know what? you think your protecting your family...but i'm basically already dead. i'm going to die in the next few minutes....but you're still going to stab me with that sword again. because you're a killer. you can't be good. you keep trying to fight your nature. but you can't. you're just like me. you're a born killer, and you hate it. but that's why you're going to finish me off, instead of letting me die here."

and i was horrified with myself. i stared at my arms that were covered in his blood with the two knives in my hands, and i freaked out. i threw the knives against the wall so that i wouldn't be like him. so that i wouldn't do what he said i would do.

but the swords ricocheted. and cut off his head. and as i ran out of the cell i thought i heard him laugh...

and i just remember thinking as i ran out of the prison to find my family that i had to convince them that i wasn't a killer...even though i knew i was.


So yeah. that was my super intense deep dream. it was kinda crazy. i guess that's a pretty okay way to start off a blog. eh. who cares?