Insomniac : Dreams

It may seem odd to write an "Insomniac" post based on my dreams, but I believe my insomnia contributes to how vivid my dreams feel, and to my ability to remember more of them, because I sleep mostly in short bursts.
My dreams are a significant inspiration for much of my creativity; whether it's writing, drawing, or any kind of art.

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I was traveling with a group of guys in a camper of some kind. They were not men I know in reality, but they were all my closest of friends in this dream. Most nights we slept in the camper or on the grass under the stars, but on a rare occasion we would stop at some old road-side motel.
One night we had decided to crowd into a room with a single bed. We were all standing around watching television and eating pizza when one of the group decided he was going to go bathe.
After some time, I and another of the group decided to go in and see why the water had been running for so long. When we entered we found that the tub had filled to the ceiling, as if there were some invisible force holding in the water, and our friend had sunk, immobile, to the bottom.
I dove through the wall of water into an infinite sea. My friend looked like a tiny pebble at the bottom of an endless ocean. The harder I swam to save him, the smaller he became. But the smaller he became, the more clearly I could see his eyes. I could feel his eyes. I could feel the growing, chilling, paralyzing terror in his eyes.

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I sat in a corner booth of a lounge. The room was filled with every woman I have ever known, or ever will know. One-by-one they walked to the table at which I sat, stood before me, presented me with all of their grievances, with all of my sins, my mistakes, and my offenses, turned away, and stood with their backs facing me. Even my mother.
One approached and expressed in vivid detail everything I had ever done to hurt her, every word that had cut her to her core, every action that had broken her heart. My offenses against her were worse than any of the other women. I could feel every pain I had caused her and began to cry.
But instead of turning from me, she sat at my side, took my hand, looked me in the eye, and smiled. While the each plaintiff took turns presenting their case and proving my guilt, she sat with me clutching my hand, gripping tighter when the offenses were greatest.