A Horrible Dream and a Snippet from a Blogger's Story

Dream
Last night, I had a horrific dream. I was with another man, walking down a country road. On the right side of the road was a huge field of grain of some kind, tall stalks of light green leaves that were drying out and turning straw-colored. The heads of the stalks of grain were dark brown, tinged with red or purple, the color of cordovan shoes. Apparently I knew the man I was with, but not well. I was uncomfortable being there with him for some reason.

As we walked along the field, we spotted a tall man in the field and he spied us at about the same time. He dropped low so we could not see him. The man next to me produced a rifle, something that looked rather small and powerless and he aimed it toward the area where the man had been. He didn't shoot it. Instead, he said, "I won't get him, I don't even know where he is." He handed the rifle to me. Just then, I saw the man rise up from the field and I took aim at him and fired. Just as the report from the shot reached my ears, I saw a look of horror and pain come across the man's face and he lurched backward as if he had been struck hard in his face. I felt a sense of horror and dread come across me like nothing ever had before; it was incomprehensible that I had just shot this man, who I did not know and who did not, that I knew, represent any threat to me.

The next thing I remember from the dream, the man I was with was introducing me to some people who looked like farmers, judging from the way they were dressed and from their leathery complexions. I felt afraid of them. Somehow, I knew that they were related in some way to the man I shot...brothers, cousins, or friends, I don't know. I was petrified that they would find out what I had done. And I kept thinking what I had done and wondering why and realizing how horrible it was. I had killed someone.

There was more to the dream, but I don't recall it. I have vague recollections of a barn dance and a crowd of people, but I don't know what else happened in that dream. I do know, though, that I have never felt quite the way I did in the dream when I realized what I had done to the man I shot. It wrenched my gut and made my mouth dry and I just felt a terrible sensation that I would never feel good about anything again.

Story
I read something on a blog today that struck me as funny. I'll quote just a touch of it and then send you on your way to read it for yourself, if you choose. The guy developed a painful rash and went to the doctor, who diagnosed it as shingles (one of my brothers has had it...it is awfully painful and I am not making fun...just find this description funny):

Shingles! It sounds so 19th century, like dropsy, quincy, pleurisy, the rheumatiz. It also sounds vaguely disreputable, like something you might contract by consorting with the livestock.

The blog is called "Perils of Caffeine in the Evening." The blogger is the husband (I think) of a woman called Isbelita who writes a very interesting blog that I stumbled across, entitled "Learning to Sequence." Neither of the two blogs are purely political...which I like about them.