Most interesting dream last night--death on the beach. That sounds like an excellent name for a band...

Woke up, couldn't go back to sleep. I've developed a terrible habit lately of waking up at four or so and convincing myself I have some terrible disease or I'm being personally hunted by every brown recluse in the state. Today it was appendicitis. Turns out I was just hungry.

Anyhow, in my dream I was walking along the beach, suddenly pulled into the surf while a woman narrator described my epic struggle to return to dry shore, very poetically relating this task to life and death. Every crashing wave was another onslaught of trials and hardships in life, pulling me back to the endless sea--and in this case, death and nothingness--and every slight break in the pressure was the little highs in life, quickly followed by another trying, soul-sucking wall of water. It was the most physically taxing thing I think I've ever done, just pulling myself through the very light surf, like my body weighed four times what it should, each clawful of sand so vital and important. It took something deeper and stronger inside to just crawl six or seven feet, and when I was done, I scooted myself around and looked back on my progress, feeling exhausted. A huge wave--larger than all the rest, beautiful and eerily dark and motionless, as if it was made of blue molasses--came tumbling down over the path I made, finally cresting and swallowing me up to take me back out the sea.

I stood up before it hit me, a little bit alarmed--but then I just smiled and kept walking, realizing all along our walks on the beach are but borrowed time--eventually all returns to the void.