Warning. This will probably be disturbing to some readers.
This was an unexpectedly violent dream.
Writing in strange places, like a wooden picnic table, cantilevered over a pool. Having to adjust the table, so it wasn’t sinking into the pool. People asking for the WiFi password, and not taking the hint that I didn’t want to give it to them.
A computer set up in my old bed room; someone stealing files from it. A confrontation with the guy who’d taken the files, being told they were nothing to worry about, just my porn collection; broken up by his friend. Killing the friend in the other room, after being told it was blackmail material, coming back for the original thief, trying to get answers from him; choking him to death.
Running commands on the PC, finding out that they’d stolen kickstarter promo files that had been sent to me; nothing important, just a curiosity.
Depression. Hiding the bodies. People still around, not realizing how far things had escalated. Normal socializing, some conflicts, guilt and then admission of what I’d done. Discussions of suicide; conversations on best methods, some arguments. Find a poison that kills my liver, taking it. Feeling it failing. Wanting to write before the end. Setting up the laptop and writing until I passed out.
Waking up, in bed. Different house, memories fading. Breakfast, then writing this.