A candy-coloured clown they call the sandman, indeed

[todayiamadaisy]

I don't usually dream – at least, I probably do but I don't remember in the morning. The only time I do is when I'm feeling particularly unhappy or stressed. The last straw in those dismal, nightmare months before I resigned from my old job was the onset of dreams – nightmares rather – about drowning from a hot air balloon crash or being pecked to death by a giant eagle. After I resigned, the dreams stopped, even though I still had six weeks to go before I finished work. Eighteen months later, I'm considerably calmer and happier and not noticeably stressed (maybe a little about deadlines and such, but nothing out of the ordinary). So why have I started to dream about being stabbed by an extra while walking through the Culture Club's "Karma Chameleon" video clip?