A little background on me first - I think it'll be necessary to glean any sort of interpretation out of this:

I'm a 37 year old survivor of the nihilistic mid-80s hardcore punk scene. Most of my friends are too, and most of us have known each other since then. We turned out pretty well, compared to what was expected of us. Most of us have beautiful families and still find time to play music or be otherwise creative.

We still consider ourselves punk, and still live somewhat on the outside of society. I don't have a bank account, and some of us still try to circumvent ceasar's laws in every way imaginable. Something particular to us here, and equally common among scenes like this in towns this size and smaller is that while most of our beliefs would be considered 'liberal', we all strongly support the right to bear arms.

Now before you get a comical image in your head of a balding, tattooed mohican with a six-shooter in each hand screaming "anarchy in the USA!", let me just end my preface by stating that each of my friends that owns a gun is 100% responsible and there have been no accidents. Not since "Johnny Nine-toes" got his name, over 20 years ago.

That "preface" was longer than I first intended. Sorry.

For about the last 15 years I have dreamed at least once a year about an end-of-the-world-in-chaos scenario. The situation varies in each one, but it's usually centered around me and a small group of my friends trying to find our other friends. All the roads out of town are backed up or closed, and we're usually on foot, making better headway than people stuck on roads in cars. Sometimes the dream involves these massive underground tunnels that lead to Mexico. There is a terrifying sense of chaos, and the military and law enforcement is spread so thin as to pretty much have given up. Martial law has been declared, but with no-one to enforce it, we're more afraid of other "tribes", unscrupulous marauders that aren't likely to attack us because we're armed.

Now, the curious thing about this dream is that contrary to the grim scene I just described, and even with the very real sense of terror in the air, I can't help but just feel... I dunno, positively giddy! This goes against my childhood religious teachings and my common sense. I know that if this really happens I'll be scared ****less. But in these dreams, it's very strange - there is a strong sense of relief - and also of hope. It's like, from this moment on you will be appreciated for what you are as a person, and not for how regularly you can punch a clock. The obvious threat to survival in the scene depicted is handled as a non-issue by my dream-persona.

When I wake, even if I don't immediately remember having the dream, I always register a tinge of disappointment when I realize it just another day outside, and I have to go punch a clock.

I'm open to all angles of interpretation for this, especially from those who may have had a similar dream. Or from a more spiritual point of view. Or one that's purely psychological. And the in-between.

...I wasn't making that up about Johnny Nine-toes.