I have a very easy to interpret subconscious at the best of times. My dreams are as obvious as colouring in book pictures. It is like the inner head me doesn’t feel the need to tax the outer head me and so makes things very simple.

But not so now.  Now that I am busy and stressed and haven’t the time or head space to decipher things my inner-head me is being obtuse. And viciously so.

I had a dead brother, in real life. Long ago enough dead to have got used to living with it. But for the last month or so I have dreamt of the man every single night. Dying. Every night I slide into a dream, or two or three, in which my already dead brother dies.

Not in the way he did die, never that familiar horror. Oh no – my inner-head has created a million other ways for my big brother to meet his demise.

I have stopped being horrified or scared by the dreams – I have reached the point of distressed dream boredom and exasperation. I want to cry with the repetition of it

I wish I could work out what I am trying to tell me, or what he is trying to tell me so I can wake up one morning not exhausted, drained and mourning all over again.

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