A senseless oniric witch

In the last months I've been having really weird dreams.
I cannot have normal dreams like winning the lottery, or being Miss Congeniality on a beauty pageant, or riding a unicorn, or getting unlimited frequent flyer miles just because.

No, Mr. Sandman must be high on mushrooms everytime he visits my pillow, because... really dude! what are you smoking??? You're going from one edge to dreamland to the opposite in the blink of an nap.

Some of them are really nice, the kind of dreams that wake you up in the middle of the night with a funky smirk and make you hold tight whatever you find next to you while laying in bed.

Thank you Mr. Sandman. You fluffy, dirty, sexy, piece of sugar daddy!

My not-so-cool dreams are very much like the scary ones I used to have before:
Death, blood, tears, funerals, dark nights, rain, strong gusts of wind, 3 children (who I don't know) crying by the side of a lake... apparently, my dreams are a copycat version of The Prisioner of Azkaban.

My dreams turn into horror movies but, unlike before, I'm not emotionally involved.
I'm watching, listening and being part of whatever's going on BUT I don't react like I think I should:
I see people cry, but I don't cry.
I see dead people, but I'm not scared. -do NOT insert a Bruce Willis joke here, don't be lame-
I see accidents, but I don't scream... I just call an ambulance and leave.

I wake up and... nothing... another day, another dollar.

They're not nightmares anymore.

They're not nightmares, or I'm facing a stage in life where seeing other people suffer does not have an effect on me.

Yeap, I've become that... a senseless oniric witch.