a dream that i did not have.

i cried to write a dream. this is what i came up with:

I Woke up in the country, and went downstairs. My wife made me waffles and I ate them with a wonderful maple syrup. Then she turned into Isaac Asimov and force fed me bagels. After that, he turned into a policeman, and my surroundings morphed into a jail cell, and the called me a murderer and he hit me with his truncheon. He hit me and hit me and I bled, I bled all over the floor, and there was a pool of blood that covered the whole room and it slowly began to rise, and the police officer drowned in it, and all I could do was watch as I bleed, and bleed, and bleed. Then I flew away and joined a bee-hive, and I busily visited flowers, and made honey. Then a giant hand comes and takes the top of the hive off and then scoops me up, and puts me in another person, and I go about my business, still as a bee, but also as a person. I visit my shop, but no one is there. After some consternation, I look over the counter, and there I am, dead. But it is not me, it is that weird guy, who sits across the road and reeds the news papers, and never does anything. Without thinking, I grab a leg of the table and break it off, and I beet him with it. But as I do so, he turns into my mom, and scolds me for being bad. And then she swallows me up in a hug, and I awaken.