For some reason my dad is actually taking an interest in the fact that all I have are nightmares.

Had another one last night, by the way, but it was so garbled in puzzles that it would be very difficult for me to write about. But There were snakes and tigers and constant changes and trying to navigate through a house into the basement where it wasn't any better, just another room and hole I couldn't find an exit to. Isn't that strange? To look for an exit, and find one only to see it's a hole in the ground. That's some kind of depressing overdone metaphor.

He seems to think it's all from bad nutrition. I don't really know. I wonder if it says something about my psyche.