Pioneer chicken stand in Normal entries

I woke up from a stress dream a few minutes ago. I am so out of practice I didn’t even quite get that it was a dream for a minute, a second, however long that period of time in is when your conscious catches your sub-conscious with it’s pants down. I assume that’s what is interesting to people who write dream journals. I’m sure I dream a lot, but at night my sleep medication erases the memory. The adaptation is more curious than the content though, I think.
I know we aren’t the only animal that dreams, but we are the only ones that tell our dreams out loud to one another. The dreaming itself is some sort of evolutionary adaption to something, perhaps something no longer necessary or perhaps the bodies way of keeping the endocrine system running. I mean if there were only three categories of dream Sex would certainly be one and Fear another and, no offense, the other would be navel gazing.
I’ve come a very long way to get back to where I started and I’m tired. I mean that as a grand summery of the plotline this character, me, follows; I’ve come a very long way to get back to where I started. Like a dream there’s many ways to interrupt that, but, like being awake, I mean it in the most literal sense. I’m sure the little stress dream is what brings it today, but I can’t remember it. I tried, the only thing that came to me was the song Carmelita

That’s my conscious minds’ fuckery though, an arcane summery that should mean nothing to nobody but me and I haven’t a fucking clue. Weary, I’m weary.