Last night I dreamed that someone was in our house going through their CD collection... showing us different things. Mom was there. Asleep. What the hell was my mom doing there? Vancouver was there... Bloopy was there. The guy starts acting crazy. Saying crazy things. I'm thinking, ‘this guy is crazy.’ He starts ranting and raving about some CD. I am bored. This is stupid. I was feeling that it was turning into a waste of my time. I'm leaving, but then I look over and see this body lying there.... bloody... he had killed someone. Right there in the house. Didn’t anyone else see it? I knew it. This guy was a psycho. It was a reminder for me, to trust that instinct. Later that night. Time had passed. I was lying in bed. The house was dark and quiet. Everyone was asleep. I laid there awake. Staring up at the ceiling. I knew I had to do something. I thought about waking mom up or one of the guys. but I had this realization that it didn't matter, asking anyone else about this. What mattered was that I needed to act. I got up, got dressed, and went outside. I found the man. Out in the front yard. Waiting for me. A twisted soul. An apparition or entity at best. A culmination of anger, confusion, depression, resentment, and neurosis come to life. An undead. Whose? Mine? Someone else’s? Did it matter? I knew what must be done. I strangled the man until he stopped breathing. He did not resist. I then took out a sword, (where did I get a sword?), and stabbed him in the heart as he fell to the ground. I then walked back to the house, went in, and laid in bed some more, my mind reeling. Eventually I fell asleep I assume. I never awoke that morning. And I never awoke from that dream. What did the dream mean, or what does the dream mean, since I seem to still be in it, is not the question. Where the hell am I now? That is the question.