I'm going to tell you about the day I died in my dreams and woke up in the morning to tell the tale. I was driving through the desert. Beautiful sunny day. Heat radiated off the sand - that mirage type heat in it's heat-mirage-y way. I was speeding down a curvy highway and in typical Wiley Coyote fashion, I drove straight off a cliff, 6 feet past the edge, and dropped straight down and exploded in a fiery crash. I watched it all happen like a movie. Next thing I knew I was walking back toward my ranch. I walked into the farmhouse and tried to tell my friend about my day but she looked straight through me. I tried to pet my cat, but my hand went right through him. I was a fucking ghost! So I went into my bedroom and stared at my bed. I couldn't lie down so I just took my left hand and hit my bed but it took a bit of time for my hand to go through. So I tried it again and it took a little longer and I felt a little bit more. I did it one more time and my hand was practically solid. And the last time my hand stopped at my blanket and couldn't go through. Then I woke up relieved to have disproved the idea that if you die in your sleep you die in real life.