Hellstrøm’s Dream, No. 214

Screaming. I woke up: screaming. I couldn’t remember a fucking thing. I felt I had dreamt a thousand dreams, but I couldn’t, as usual, remember a damned thing. I was alive, I knew that much. God only knew how, and why, but I was. I even had the funny feeling I was in control, though I was confused.
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Ahhh, then I remembered: I had been cutting my own hair, in the dream. I saw my own face in the mirror, as I snipped and snipped, the hair falling in front of my horrified eyes… suddenly I felt on my head with my hands, with an ugly, dawning feeling of disaster. But no, my hair was still there.
What did that mean, cutting my hair in a dream? What would a dream-interpreter say to that? What would Freud say? Was it sexual?
I laughed out loud and went to take a piss.

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