Dreams are funny things...
I was in this kitchen that always seemed out of focus no matter how much I squinted or looked at it. There was a large cutting board and slabs of bleeding meat topped beside it. Almost compelled, I took one slab, positioned it on the cutting board and began chopping it with a very large cleaver. I remember the chopping to be rather satisfying. How enjoyable it was to watch the blade bite into the meat and embed itself into the wood.
A dinner table began to come into focus, a spotlight above it revealing people gathered, many of them sending out words of encouragement, jokes to hurry, exclamations of hunger.
It almost seemed as if I couldn't stop once I got started, even when my hand holding the meat in place got closer and closer to the cleaver. My index finger went first, rolling and tumbling off the cutting board, middle finger next. There was something resembling a sensation of pain, but I was so engrossed whatever feelings I had seemed inconsequential.
I began to wake up just as I was laying my head on the cutting board, the cheers of the dinner party spurring me to keep on chopping...