not sure

I started having dreams again, which hadn't occured for a long time. The funny thing is, the evening before the sleep in which they started appearing, I called it to myself, that I would have a dream that night. After the longitudinal craziness of the summer, I've finally settled down into what I might call my "Murakami" period. Murakami, of course, writes novels and stories. More specifically, many of his stories involve a character caught somewhere in between the dream world and the actual world, which is what I have been feeling like.
It's not that the days have necessarily been monotonous and repetitious. There have been parts, but it's mostly thanks to my own convictions that I've spent much time alone, engrossed in books or just aimlessly wandering around the house from couch to couch, bed to bed. I have seen people, been with people. Driven places, done errands, etc.
Where the grey area lies is in this last week, I've been in a sort of philosophical whirlpool of sorts. I've thought a lot about death, and how it scares me. I've thought about my own loneliness and why is and what it entails. About the differences between my going away to the east coast this year and last year, of which there are surprisingly few. A very important few, but still but a few.
And I suppose how afraid I am of a bunch of things. School being the most pressing. Being away from my family for so long. Not that I'm itching to be in their company all the time, but something about having them accessible. They have a way of making me feel responsible for being with them, and it's not that I don't enjoy it. I do end up enjoying it, however reluctant I am to having a meal with them and answering the same questions and talking about the same thing each time. There's something else that makes it meaningful. I suppose that connection between myself and where I came from, before I was alive. And the knowledge that once they're gone, pu-pu, there's no going back to hearing their oft-repeated stories or applying their old-world wisdom to my life now.
I wouldn't call it being depressed, more like seriously pensive. I like that word a lot, actually. Sometimes I just out-think myself. Funny thing is, when i'm actually doing things and being with people, I'm not that way. I mean, I still try to think deeply, but I'm never out-thinking myself. I'm never thinking myself into an alley way with a dead-end.
Which leads to the dreams. I'm quiet a lot of the day. I'm having an inner dialouge with myself, and that's where most of my daily interactions take place. Once I stir up enough thoughts, worries, feelings in my head, they don't go to sleep as I do. They stay awake and alive, and I can hear them fooling around in my head as I'm trying to close my eyes. I know they'll be up to no good as soon as the rest of me can't do anything about it. I'm inhabiting this world where it's all hypothetical - most of what i'm beating around in my head has to do with what happens once I get to school all the way to far far beyond that - and I'm attempting to play out every scenario in my head before it happens. This would go under the category of out-thinking myself, swirling thoughts in the head that become dreams, etc. When I've been with people it hasn't been so bad. I've been in that hypothetical, dream-like state most of the past week. Stuck with wanting to be with myself and becoming lost in my own labyrinthian conceptions of what could or should or would happen.
It's a lonely journey without street signs or directions. Once in a while, I see a familiar face, and I come back to earth.