A cutthroat choice

If dreams are meant to be deciphered, then i'm better off asleep. Last night, i saw some dreams like a series of badly edited short films. One of them showed me on my knees with my hands cuffed behind me. To make matters worse, there was a person whose face or features i can't recall now. S/he had a knife in his/her right hand and i was more scared than Jude Law in Dom Hemingway. You know, when his penis was on line because of a stupid bet? My neck was on line here. And as the person kept walking to and fro in front of me, i couldn't help but think of Jude's receding hairline. Yes, he was inside my head when i was about to be killed by whoever-it-was in my own fucking dream. In other words, my could-have-been last thoughts were to be spent on a Hollywood star who doesn't give a hair about me! Isn't that sad? Regardless, i managed to survive the dream because the knife wasn't sharp enough and the killer-of-my-dream was struggling to make a cut on my throat. I don't remember much except feeling so freaking relieved that the knife refused to obey its master. Blood wouldn't spill out no matter how hard that person tried to press in. As soon as i realized that he's not going to win, i began to throw my head back more. You know, the way Diane Lane exposed her neck in a cinema hall when her orgasm—err, marriage—was on line in Unfaithful?