Mundane Strangeness

My dreams of late have petered out into a mundane strangeness. I go from one moment dreaming that I lie in a single bed between my best friend and my boyfriend, to rising in a cold sweat because I see my cactus, Consuela, has fallen over and strewn her dirt upon the sun-stained windowsill. Last night I saw an eggshell in my pan of about-to-be-scrambled eggs and consequently spent an anxious fifteen dream-minutes trying to extract the bugger. I woke at 0659 wondering what my future therapist would say to that. Perhaps she will appreciate the charm in those small details of life away from life.