Recently, it's been all about working out emotional wreckage and picking through the rubble. Luckily, that means I don't have to deal with all that in my waking life. Subconscious to the rescue!
But really, I have a lot of very vivid dreams that I think tell a lot about me as a person and my brain as an organ.
Sometimes they give me advice. Sometimes they tell me stories. Sometimes they tell me not to do things, or show me what I really think, seriously. (Your dress is ugly, seriously.)
And here is the point where I should sum up this list with something concretely profound about dreams and life and shit. But no. I'll just leave that hanging. I hate happy endings anyway.
I actually didn't mean that just now about happy endings. I'm a human, as it were, and I like to get my oxytosin or endorphins or dopamine or whatever pumping with a pristine, unmerited christmas present ending where the girl finds a puppy and that dude marries her and they have babies. YES
Cats: so, I wish I had one. But not as much as I want a dog. Scratch that I want to BE a dog. I think I spent a majority of my childhood being a dog, as a matter of fact. You'd think that after practicing for something for such a long time, the day would actually come when you'd put your extensive experience to use. But I have yet to be a dog. Unfortunately.
To sum up:
my goals include learning how to paint, finding ten dollars on the sidewalk (or in the grass is ok too, as long as the grass is not dewy and the ten dollars isn't moist), and using something so hard it breaks.
Love.
Sunday, August 31, 2008
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