I used to deep dream every night, but ever since I got a job, Morpheus rarely pays me a visit. It's a shame, because I've missed his company.
These days, it happens about once or twice a week. I don't get as much sleep as I used to, and it's a lot shallower. There's the kind of sleep where I know I'm lying in bed, and then there's the kind where I'm anywhere but here.
Deep dreaming is one of the few times where I experience the genuine sensation of being someone else entirely in a completely different place. I wonder if my dreams are truly products of imagination or perhaps glimpses of a parallel world. If it's the latter, I feel sorry for those versions of me that die.
It's funny to think that for some people, dreams are their escape from a shitty reality, but for me, it's quite the opposite. If I had a nickel for every time I've woken up from a car accident, failing a test, or an otherwise indescribably unfortunate situation, I would be a millionaire.
