Oh momma, is it really the end?

I've been to Europe and returned. I've been to West Covina and returned. More on both of these events later. While in Europe I kept a recorded by my side with the intention of transcribing it. I will do this soon, but haven't decided how I want to format it yet. Each entry as its own post here? Date and time divisions? Who knows, but I promise it's not important.

Two nights ago I had a dream that went something like this: while at my grandparents house (which was somehow in the high desert area of California) I glanced out their giant picture window and saw three mushroom clouds rising. I turned to my dad and said, "They've bombed LA, San Diego, and [forgotten detail]." They came to the window and watched as the San Diego shockwave raced towards us. I remember my thoughts went something like this: "I'm going to die. There is no way around this. I hope I was right about the whole God thing." I put up my hand as the shockwave came closer and just hoped that there was some way I could stop it. My POV changed and I was looking down at myself as the wave moved slightly around me and then engulfed me from behind. Right then, I woke up. Creepy feeling to wake up to.

I really enjoy dreams. Everything is so real and so emotional and not. It's so real that the experiences carry from sleep into the awake. I woke up feeling odd, but the feelings I had were from an experience that only took place in my head. The perception of fear was real to me. I love perceptions. All of life is dictated by how we perceive things but it seems to me that dreams indicate that perception is easily modified. How much can I trust my perception?

I'm reading a lot. While in Europe I read Kesey, Thompson, Bukowski, Moore, and Irving. I read more Moore upon getting back (who talks like this anymore?) and I'm going through Catcher in the Rye now. I think that's one book that I read every few years and can say that I really view myself differently each time I read it.

Peace to all.