Drug induced dreams- it's not what you think.

I was watching one of my favorite shows last night: Breaking Bad, a show about a Nobel Prize winning chemistry teacher who turns to manufacturing and selling methamphetamine to a distributer in order to provide some money for his family. You see he's dying of cancer and his wife is pregnant, so he's doing whatever he can so they can be provided for, monetarily at least, when he passes away. It's a great drama, has a good deal of comedy too, and has great insights on the drug world.  I, of course, love the science. Maybe that wasn't totally obvious to some, but in my spare time, I like studying science; especially Chemistry, Anatomy, and Physiology. Sure, I also enjoy my fare share of Psychology and whatever you call the study of human behavior as a society...  Sociology! Anyway, the show is amazing and is helping my mind think more scientifically in my personal creative medium. 

This episode I watched last night induced a strange dream in me last night that I would like to share before it's forgotten:

I had been manufacturing my own drugs, and had come up with an excellent product. We'd not sold anything to anybody yet, so I was walking around this elaborate apartment complex selling the drugs out of my backpack to people I knew. I implored them not to speak of what I was doing, and if they knew somebody who wanted some of what I had, they'd have to do a serious background check or have known them for long enough to know that they were not going to tell anyone. Business was doing very well, but it made me sad when I caught one of my real life friends talking to someone I'd just sold drugs to.

She looked totally coked-out and was saying that she'd have sex with him for some of the drugs. He said he was tired of sex [who says that?] and that he could not give any of his supply to her. I had a whole bag, I made it for practically no money, and I was selling it. I could have given her some money  but I felt really bad for her; so I kind of just walked away.

My partner was yelling at me that something was going wrong and that I needed to go downstairs and assist. There was a car on fire, and it was careening down a grassy hill! Then it was hitting trees, flipping out of control, and vast amount of charred bodies were flung out from all sides of the vehicle. There were far too many bodies lying on the ground for that small car! Too many for a a four-door sedan! Among the bodies was my partner who had told me to go downstairs in the first place... but he was a going up the stairs when he'd told me. Weird. Then I woke up and realized it was only a dream.

It wasn't a nightmare to me. Some people might think that. It may have turned that way if I'd gotten caught. Most of my nightmares deal with getting caught doing something terrible or having to be held responsible for my mistakes! 

I'm not sure if dreams always speak to me. Maybe the dream was telling me I needed to become a drug dealer because I would not get caught, but it would, in the end, destroy people I cared about... you win some you lose some. I'm not very good at interpreting dreams but I'm excellent at having them. I had one the other night that I wont share, that I believe was inspiration though... maybe this one was too; I just haven't gotten it yet.