dreams & child[ishness] into whatever follows

I realized: damn this journal has become so morbid! I've been writing lighthearted-er and more humor`ful stuff in the dizzy fog of waking nightmares by the nightstand. Amongst the nightmares: there're these places, where pants and non-short-sleeved-t-shirts-items are not a matter of choice out in the open air, where instead of sunrays, sneezes of liquid and frost spray down from the sky and the coulds, and at a time like late-November it is'nt obvious to any

2yearold on the street that it, duhhh, is beautiful and a perfect
day for tanning, or solar-panel harvesting, or just smelling in the heat that
rises from the asphalt at noon, through comfortably flared nostrils
below surroundings-admiring eyes.

And moreover, this nightmare continued, not only are there these places, but I plan on going--I repeat: plan on going--there, that wilderness of a bad choice, with its rugged weather & its insistence on actually collecting rent.
It's all a bad dream. This part of blog 11/21 is true: When I wake and brush my teeth in front of the mirror, and remember what happenings of the day before became the basis for dream-scenes during the night, those happenings are absolutely no more real--or maybe even less--than the scenes in my REM

experience. So what's the Real Life, and how does answering that matter,
and how to answer?