The Labrynth of the Mind

I ate some peanut butter last night before bed, for the tryptophan content. I also took about 75mg of vitamin b-6, hoping to convert some of that tryptophan to serotonin. I had many dreams last night, but my recall is still terrible. I know I dream a lot, but I can remember only a little.

Chased by Nebuchadnezzar

I am somewhere, being chased by Nebuchadnezzar. He is animal-like, although I don't recall if he was in one of his animal phases. He is chasing a lot of people. I crawl under a couch to hide, which seems to be a clever thing to do. At times, it isn't Nebuchadnezzar but somebody else (the police?). One of my tactics seems to involve holding my breath and counting. There is more to this dream but I can't remember it.

Dream journal

I am in a library somewhere taking books off of shelves. One of them is my dream journal, and I realize that I should write in it. I dream something about lucid dreams, but don't become lucid.

The Torso

I am out walking behind "my" house. The property is familiar, but it isn't like the house I live in now, or any other house I can think of at the moment. It is a little like my Grandparents' house where I used to spend time when I was really little, and where my family lived for a little while. Anyway, I decide to do some volunteer work for the U.S. Army Corps of Engineers, finding posts that mark boundaries for flood control.

I get to the top of a hill, and see some posts down in the woods. However, I also see a bag full of a human torso, and some body parts. Obviously, there has been a murder. I think to myself "I don't have much of an excuse to be out here. If the cops investigate this, they will find that I was in the area. I don't trust the legal system to not find me guilty of murder, even if there is no evidence".

I decide that the wisest course of action is to move the bag of torso to a different place. I do so, and then return to looking for posts.

My family goes somewhere. When we return, the police have found the bag, and are investigating. We go somewhere else, and when we come back the police are at the top of the hill where I was, with dogs. The dogs have traced the scent of the bag back to its original position. Then, I realize that I didn't wear gloves when I moved the back. I shudder, thinking that (a) I didn't use gloves to move the bloody mess and (b) my fingerprints are now all over the bag!

I consider the matter further. An ond bag has lots of fingerprints on it, right? How could they prove I had anything to do with the murder? And besides, if they did discover that I had had anything to do with the body, I could just tell them the truth. I think about my story, and how flimsy it will sound. I consider confessing to the police what I did. I think maybe I should send them an email, explaining that I moved the bag but didn't have anything to do with the murder. But then I think again that the justice system will probably find me guilty no matter what. I decide to leave things alone. It has been a few days, maybe this will become just another cold case.