All My Dreams Are Changing Every Day In Every Possible Way

For the first two weeks after we moved here, I dreamed about packing almost every night. I was taping, wrapping, hauling, lifting, wedging, driving and moving every night in my sleep. It probably didn't help that I was fighting off the cold that I had contracted on our trip down here. Does anyone else get weird dreams when they are sick, or is that just me?

Then we started karate. For the next week or so, my dreams took on a different look. Faces I had only seen a couple of times surrounded me, garbed in white, as I broke fall over and over again on a blue mat, trying to comprehend the meanings of words I had never heard before.

Thanks to said karate, though, for most of the last couple of weeks I have been way too tired and sore most nights to actually remember the dreams I had the next day. Once in a while, though, the dream is so poignant that it lingers. The plot line of the dream might be lost, but the faces--and the emotions--are not. Faces I love. Faces I miss. Uncles and aunts, grandparents and cousins. And most of all, my immediate family--Dad, Logan, Angela, Mom and Dad Winters, Nick and Jen, Kayla and Kayden--and the friends as close as family--Magnussons, Gregories, Burdicks, Berreths, McDonalds. . . I could go on, but I think I might start weeping.

I think my dreams are in mourning.