STUDIO MICHELLE BERNARD

 I dreamt I died the other night.

 Best believed I wanted to wake up.  

 Couldn’t.

It was the kind of dream that I could feel.  It was real.

I was sentenced to my death by someone [ can’t remember who, why, nothing].

The process of my dying meant that 

I would throw up in a white plastic garbage bin until all of my innards were puked out.  Then I would grow tired, fall asleep, and never wake up.

I did throw up, tons (in the dream). 

Someone (cloudy in memory) nursed me during all this puking, so 

I wasn’t alone.  

One of my dogs was there.  Cloudy.

I fought to stay awake, though I could see my innards filling the garbage bin.  

“I am close to the end”

Sleepy.  Oh no.

 Sleepy.

I thought about my life, what I didn’t do, what I thought was important, what I was afraid to go for and take… I wanted to go back in time and get it done.  To fear less. 

I fought the sleep hard.  harder.

all through the night  ➧  barfing and lifting my lids with all my strength to avoid succumbing to the sleep.

Morning.

I was awake.

No puking.

I didn’t die.  

The ( whomever person who pronounced my death sentence) had told me there was no way I’d make it to morning.

But, I did.

I woke up ( in real life) and smiled all frickn day.  

I’m alive!  I’m alive.  I love this place!  I love myself.  I love, love, love dammit.

I am not finished.  

Thank you for another day. 

It all matters.  I am alive.