I am a fan of sleep. Always have been. I get really kind of pissy when I don't get any. (I am sure many of you notice that!)
And, as it has been well documented, on both mine, and Cami's blogs, many of us in my family are very prolific dreamers. And we remember our dreams.
For the most part, this is nice. I like the internal storytelling that goes on in my head when the lights are out. But now and again, I have dreams that aren't very nice. And because my dreams are so detailed, and I remember most of them, in detail, I wake up with the emotion that I was experiencing in the dream still coursing through my veins.
I've had days where I woke up angry from the get go, because I dreamt of an argument with some one.
I've woken up sad, because someone died.
I've woken up scared, because of nightmares.
And, Sunday? Horribly, I woke up heartbroken, because I had a dream that MM got tired of me and got me to move out of the house. Into an ugly apartment, with ROOM MATES, and none of my familiar belongings around me. I was so distraught over this one, that I scooted across the bed at approx. 3 am until I located him, woke him up, and discussed this particular dream with him. He was very sweet and reassuring, for 3 am. Especially because we hadn't gone to bed until midnight...
I MUCH prefer waking up happy, after good, happy dreams. Thankfully the bad ones are not frequent flyers...