Yet it is in our idleness, in our dreams, that the submerged truth sometimes comes to the top.

Last night I dreamed that I was a lone soul in a post-apocalyptic wasteland - clearly I've been playing too much Fallout. The only interesting points of the dream were
a) the wolves were back. Again.
and
b) I stabbed a man in the throat with a large kitchen knife. He was a very nasty man and I was aided by two other young women, who similarly took out his eyes and ears with small blades.
It all seems very symbolic, although I'm not quite sure what it's meant to represent. I often swing back and forth between thinking dreams are many-layered puzzles thrown up by overactive imaginations while our too-restrictive sensible waking minds are too dormant to do anything about it, and thinking that dreams are merely images and ideas we've had over the day being sorted in a very haphazard and meaningless way by our ever-busy brains. I suppose the end product is a bit of both.