I was a little concerned last night that I would have nightmares. I just started reading a history of the worst avalanche disaster in the country. The White Cascades is engrossing, written as engagingly as a novel. But I made the mistake of skipping to the appendices and reading the list of the 96 who perished. It was heartbreaking, as I had already become attached to some of the people, even though they lived and died in 1910.
However, I think I might be even more concerned that I didn't have nightmares and slept like a baby.