Last night, this last dream, bleeding walls and electric shocks, was finally different. It was as confusing and nauseating as all the others, like I’m running down a staircase in the dark and keep missing a step, but there was something tangible last night. A man. Two men, actually. One of them was the dreamer, I think. As I ran, I saw his reflection blur in the dark glass windows along a long, dark hallway. Dark hair, sunken cheeks, skinny, strung-out frame. He—I, we—ran and ran and ran until we got to a window that was lit up, a hospital bed with a different man in it, a man that looked impossibly familiar to me, so familiar I’m not sure if it was the feeling of the dreamer who I was with or a feeling of my own. Then I woke up.

I don’t know why I care so much about figuring it out. It feels like maybe whoever’s head I’m walking into has answers to questions I haven’t even thought to ask yet. There’s something about the dreams themselves, the frenetic nature, the fact that I’m never really able to catch hold, that makes me think there’s something hinky going on. Maybe there’s another dreamdiver around and we’re like two radios set across from each other, our frequencies clashing. Or maybe the AM is experimenting on me somehow. I should ask Owen.

Oh my god, Owen. In a complete photo-negative of the first dream I dived into—or, rather, was yanked into and then spat out of—the last place I went walking was, I’m fairly certain, Owen Green’s head. I didn’t stay for long, too jarred by being in the dream of someone I knew but not that well and the fact that DR. BRIGHT of all people was there!!!

I was right in noticing the way that Dr. Bright and Owen have both reacted when the other one is mentioned … there really IS a history there. The dream was simple, an apartment living room, sunbathed and homey, with Owen and Dr. Bright wandering around comfortably, going about their day, watering plants and smiling at each other. Like they were in love. Owen just looked like Owen, though it was a bit weird to see him in something other than a suit and tie (I guess he’s a chinos/cable-knit sweater kind of guy in the comfort of his own home) but Dr. Bright was glowing. She looked like herself in the sense that there were no big changes and, listen, she might be an older woman, but I know an attractive lady when I see one, so it’s not like she wasn’t already going to look beautiful in Owen’s head but this was …