Why is it that we have dreams? For the last several weeks I’ve been waking up after suffering from very surreal nightmares. Like I’ve been walking around in a Dali painting. What? I’m melting like the clock, yet I still try to get to school on time. Why? What could that possibly mean? In last night’s dream, I was running around trying to find my dog in the dark, then my dog turned into my book, which turned into my car, which turned … you get the picture. I woke up exhausted. How many people die of heart attacks every year from simply dreaming things that are frustrating, incomprehensible or terrifying? Something we seemingly have no control over. There are people who say that they have lucid dreams, dreams which they script that can follow sensible rules and take them where they want to go in their subconscious. I’m screaming in my dreams, “No! I know I’m dreaming, I don’t want to do this,” yet I still fall off the cliff. Silly me. They say that if you die in your dream, you don’t ever wake up. I have had eight dreams in which this happened. Am I a cat? Am I truly on my ninth life? Gotta be careful what I dream tonight!