recurrence

These are the things I dream about most frequently:

Being chased and my legs being trapped in slow motion so I can't run away.

Having pet hamsters, and them dying.

Lifts. Always, always, always, lifts.

Someone getting ever closer, walking through every locked door I try to put between us.

Kit.

Kelly Clarkson.

Wells and underground prisons, being stuck in them.

The killer from Scream.

Going out for meals with strange selections of people.

University, but not as I know it. Specifically halls of residence, Runymede and Founders most often, but different, better, more spiral staircases, more pubs, less of my own stuff.

Being stuck in an MRI machine.

Suicide. Mine, other people's.

I'm not lying.

A big wooden house with a room containing a giant Christmas bauble that, somehow, visitors get stuck in and have to cling on for life with their fingernails. Not as fun as it sounds.

Soul Survivor.

Going on a date with someone, only for them to change into someone else, someone hideously inappropriate, at the crucial moment of the goodbye kiss.

People I'm annoyed with, normally so we get to argue.

Having my hair cut.

Giant, corporate parties where I'm the gatecrasher.

People dying and it being my fault.

Having a baby.

Meeting George Bush and not shaking hands with him for political reasons. Chaos ensuing.

Sometimes I quite look forward to getting to sleep.