Nightmarred and Dreamscarred. Last night, I had the queerest, the scariest dream of my entire life. Not even my prior dream of killing someone and subsequently hiding in the ceiling could match up to this one I am about to tell you. It's so queer and scary I could still feel the after-effects of the dream even 12 over hours after waking up.

Ok, so here it goes. I can't remember what leads up to this dream, so I will go to the point straight.

I dreamt I severed my right foot on my own accord with a steel string saw. It was severed two thirds down my lower leg, and it was a clean cut, like how you would cut a sausage into 2 clean portions. There wasn't any blood strangely. So after the insane act of me severing my own foot without much thought, the severed foot stood on the floor like how those mannequin feet would in the footwear shops. Surreal image it was. The dream replica of me looked upon my dream replica of my severed right foot without the slightest hint of any emotion. So I was just staring at that foot of mine, going, "Oh. What is this? That looks like my foot!" Finally cognizant of the situation, I looked down on my leg, and saw a stump of a leg, then I looked at the severed foot again on the floor. Still not feeling any emotion. However, some irrational part of me urged me to complete my leg again. So the emotionally detached dream replica of me went to pick up my severed foot, which was relatively heavy judging from my dream sense of weight. So, I went on to rejoin the severed foot back to the stump of my right leg, pressing really hard as if they would re-attach like how papers would stick together with glue. The foot *my foot* dropped many times. Only on the 4th time (I think) did it managed to stay together with my leg again. After my makeshift dream surgery, I tried to wriggle my toes and feel something with that foot, hell, this is the part that gives me the creeps. Everything felt so foreign and surreal, even in a normally reason-deficient dream scenario.

My right foot still feel so cold, so detached even now when I am typing this.

It's really strange to dream of a bodily alienation and to feel the process of matching things back together again to make an entity that I could so easily identify as "Me", which in fact are just little parts joined together. So, who is the real "Me"?

Madness.  ¶ 10:42 pm