whenever i want to all i have to do is dream

“All human beings are also dream beings.
Dreaming ties all mankind together.”
– Jack Kerouac

“I dreamed I was a butterfly, flitting around in the sky; then I awoke.
Now I wonder: Am I a man who dreamt of being a butterfly,
or
am I a butterfly dreaming that I am a man?”
– Zhuangzi

There were so many good quotes, I couldn’t pick just one. Luckily, blogs hold no boundaries, except for the fact that I can’t type HTML code to save my life.

Are you someone who dreams?  My mother is someone who never does.  When I was a child, they were impossibly ridiculous and made no sense, bordering the idea of a bad LSD trip.

(Not that I’ve ever partaken in drug use, or condone its usage, but keep reading and you’ll understand the comparison.)

Pilot (the lucky shit) dreams about (what else?) flying airplanes, confirmed by the airplane noises he makes in his sleep.

Understandably, those who newly share a roof have all types of quirks to learn about, and get used to, with each other.

Having said that…  You can imagine my surprise when I discovered I was sleeping next to an FA-18 Superhornet every night.

I eventually learned how to sleep again after a few short months.

Sigmund Freud said that dreams were repressed desires and emotions.  As much as I appreciate the theories Dr. Freud has provided for countless students of psychology to analyze for the rest of their lives, I have to disagree with ol’ Siggy here.

Personally, I don’t really give much significance to dreams. I’m a believer that dreams are an amalgamation of recent events in your life, things you’re worried about, people you’ve seen, etc.

As an adult, half of my dreams end up being either about my time at work from my Daily Life, or simply somewhat-normal conversations with people in/from my life, like living a second life in my sleep, then waking up bummed because now I have to “re-live” a normal day that was similar to my dreams.

The other half?  Well, sometimes the dreams are just about random, crazy stuff.

What about color?  I’ve heard that those who dream in color tend to be more creative, but I’ve never met anyone who dreams in black and white, (or for you Techies, grayscale).

Also Freud mentioned that dreams can be suppressed sexual desire.  Again, not to belittle the great Doc Siggy’s advice, I have to, again, discredit this theory.  (Also, gross!)  If this proves true, I think I’m screwed. Pun intended.

Case in point: When I was eight, during a time of little stress in my life, family was healthy, school was pretty good, etc., I dreamt about being chased by a puma through a grocery store, while I parkoured myself over the checkout stands to safety in the rafters of the building.  Basically spending the entire dream scared shitless.

Analyze that.

If dreams are about repressed sexual desires, then the dream I had about sitting at a school desk in an empty room realizing I’ve left my wallet in my locker has a much deeper meaning than me just being my normal (if somewhat forgetful) self.

Below are some interesting articles and websites dedicated to analyzing why we dream, dream interpretations, and the great theorists who studied this field.

As for me? I think I’ll just take a sleeping pill tonight.

What are you dreams typically like? Are they the ones you hear about in studies such as the ability to fly or some other superpower?  Are they somewhat like random drug trips? (Not that I have ever done drugs, but jus’ sayin’.) Are they typically happy, scary, depressing, etc.?

Daily Writing Challenge

Day 24: Write, in second person, a dream your character is having. Whether it be a nightmare or something happier, describe the dream in its entirety.

The dense fog not only engulfed the streets, it hid you from view. You were standing alone by the bus stop, waiting to be picked up. Main street was completely deserted except for the beacon of red your soft knit sweater gave off, its color cutting through the thick layer of emptiness.

After pulling up to you, you raised your eyebrow at me.

“It’s you,” you said.

Nodding in reply, then gesturing for you to climb in, you skeptically accepted the quiet offer of being driven home.

Not speaking for several seconds, your fingers played with the drawstring of your hoodie while gazing out the window. Taking in your soft brown hair, your faded, holey jeans.  You were wearing a pair of gray Converse sneakers.  Your old lime green backpack resting in your lap, no doubt holding two or three books that you always seemed to carry around.

“Why’d you come back?” you whispered at the window.

Turning the wheel, the car was placed on the side of the empty road. Turning to your face were the only three words that mattered. “I needed you.”

Recognizing a flash of pain you, narrowed your eyes, analyzing any slight tremor of my hand which never came, any faltering glance of my eye which never wavered, watchful of every potential emotion that might escape the blank stare I gave you.  Anything to try to catch any false meaning of those words.  You were dissatisfied with the truth.

“You neededme,” parroting, but giving an annoyed acknowledgement of the choice of words.

A slight nod and simple acknowledgement of “Yes” was all that could be offered.

You blew out a breath you apparently had been holding and stared at the condensation on the window.  After several heartbeats your face snapped back to my gaze.

“Where the hell have you been for the last year?  I haven’t seen you since graduation and now you decide to roll into town without so much as a phone call or postcard the entire time you were away?”

Tears appeared in your eyes, and it was every ounce of strength to not touch your face. You wouldn’t have wanted me to, even though it would have made you feel better.  Your voice was strained as you spat out the words as if they tasted sickly in your mouth as you said them.  “I don’t know what you’ve been doing, where you’ve been or who you’ve been with. I’m not sure I want to know or even care. All I do know is that you owe me an explanation, and that I don’t want to listen to it.”

You waited for a response.  You didn’t get one.  A heavy silence filled the space in the car as you stared at me.  Your hand raised up to strike me, catching you wrist, feeling your warm skin and your elevated pulse ricocheted under my fingers.  I kissed your fingertips, then took your face in my palms.  Pulling you close, we kissed. An angry kiss, all too painfully aware that although there was much to talk about, oh so much, we weren’t ready to face the truth. Sitting there, feeling you again, none of it mattered.  For the next few moments, everything would wait while I was holding you.

After.  Only after would you then be ready to hear, but not before.

sometimes you have to rip it off like a bandage

Breaking up is hard to do. Or, so I thought.

I love my Macbook. We have been in a relationship for about 5 years.

So what if the Mac version of Microsoft Word has completely different looking toolbars and I have to re-educate myself from PC to Mac every time I open the program? So what if my vision is bad and trying to read a 10-word sentence is difficul-

Huh?  What’s that, Pilot?  You’re willing to help me purchase a new laptop because I’m technologically illiterate and scared to purchase an item with something called 4GB of RAM or GOAT or SHEEP or something? Hmm…

1 HOUR LATER…

Feeling giddy!  Just got back from purchasing a new laptop that is twice as fast, half as heavy and provides a much bigger monitor for myself with Windows 7. It won’t be ready until tomorrow, but I can wait. I’m a somewhat-patient person.

Sorry Macbook.  It’s been a good run.  It’s not you. It’s me.

No wait, it WAS you. Anyone want to buy a Macbook?

The ongoing war of computers.  Which are you, a Mac or a PC and why?

Daily Writing Challenge

Day 10: Your character has dreams, ambitions and goals don’t they? What are they? What are they doing to achieve them? Write a scene that shows these aims.

Sparks arched out in a halo of light as the metal changed from a dull grey to a bright white-orange while the piece of steel began to bifurcate.

Just one more cut right… there!

Stopping the flame generating from her finger, Lorelei lifted her welding mask up from her face. Using the sleeve of her coveralls she wiped the sweat from her brow.  Blowing out a breath, she checked her watch. Four eleven. She better stop now if she had any plans of making it to work on time.

The phone rang off in the distance.  While putting the receiver to her ear, she pressed Send.

“Hello?”

“Hey Lorelei, you better get down here quick!”  Lorelei rolled her eyes and sighed.  She took the welding mask off her head and set it down on the hallway table.

“Hey Mitch, don’t worry. I’ll be there on time. My shift doesn’t start until six.”

“Hold on a second.” She heard him cover the phone with his hand as he yelled something inaudible, then returned to speak with her.

“I need you to come in early. We’re supposed to gear up for Hell Outta Dodge tonight, but the wiring’s on the fritz again. Can you come down and see if you can fix the soundboard?”

A local band was making their debut tonight at the club.  It was an old warehouse from the eighties that had been renovated into one of the new hotspots downtown. Although the façade of the building looked good, the wiring was still old and required constant attention.

As thoughts of a relaxing bath began to dissipate, she replied, “Sure, Mitch. I’ll be there in twenty.”

“Thanks, you’re a doll.” Click. The line went dead. Mitch wasn’t exactly for small talk.

She pulled at her hair tie and shook her red hair loose.  Placing it next to the mask, she put her hands on her hips and looked down at her Chihuahua, Blazer.  Blazer’s little pink tongue was sticking out the side of her mouth. Lorelei gave her little dog a small smile.

“Well, looks like I’m going to have to save the day again!” she announced. Blazer’s ears picked up, tucking her tongue back in and wagged her tail in response.

Longingly looking at the water flowing into the tub, wishing she could have taken that leisurely soak, Lorelei twisted the knob and stepped into the spray for a quick shower instead.

Hopefully my muscles won’t be too sore later if I turn up the heat. She twisted the knob again to heat up the spray, stretching her shoulders and turning to make sure her back was in the massaging water. As she shampooed her hair, her mind began to wander.

What am I going to do with my life?

The club had been a great job with the best tippers in the city for some extra cash each night. People tended to tip better with a drink in them.  And she couldn’t beat the hours. Having a night job allowed her to work on her sculptures during the day when the noise wouldn’t bother anyone.

A desk job hadn’t suited her. Lorelei had learned that the hard way.  Being cooped up in a stuffy office away from the outside, only able to look at the sunshine through a window was torture.  Apparently her boss recognized that when he fired her.

Lorelei had acquired quite the resume over the years. She had been a short-order cook by using her magic to fire-roast each burger, making them the exact temperature each customer wanted.  At one time she had been a chauffer for a limo company specializing in first-class clientele.  An apprenticeship with a local plumbing company went well for about six months until a pipe she was working on burst and flooded her client’s home causing massive water damage to their kitchen.  After that, no one wanted to hire her. Oh, well. That job probably would have been better suited for her sister anyway, who could use magic to control water.  Now, she was a bartender slash electrician for Headliners, a punk rock club located in South Seattle. 

If only there was a way for her to find what she was good at along with having a schedule with the freedom to work on her sculptures whenever she wanted. Away from neighbors and have a little privacy as well.

Mrs. Walters was great. A woman who allowed Lorelei to rent the basement unit and pay extra for the garage space to work on her art.  But Mrs. Walters was in her early seventies and required a quiet environment in the evenings.  Having direct access to the garage was nice so Lorelei wouldn’t tromp around the house to get to the front door and disturb her.  But she always felt guilty each incident where she lost track of time and Mrs. Walters would have to call from her bedroom asking for quiet.

Turning the water off, Lorelei lightly squeezed the towel around her hair, and put her makeup on. Going to her bedroom, she dressed for work, a sleeveless button down green shirt to match her eyes, black leather pants and black boots.  She took one last glance in the mirror.

Something has got to change, she thought to herself.

Giving Blazer a quick snuggle, she grabbed her keys and left for work. 

and so it begins…

What the heck have I gotten myself into, now?

This is exactly what is going through my mind at this exact moment.

I have a love/hate relationship with myself. I love to give myself frank, honest tough-love to ensure I continue to grow as a person. (Ok, and also to keep from becoming too boring.)  And, typically, I hate going through every minute of it.

Allow me to explain:

Every so often, I give myself an enormously-heaving shove outside of my comfort zone.

As a child, it was facing my fear of heights to jump off of the high dive at the local pool. (I’m still ridiculously terrified of heights, but at least I did it.)  As a guarded, semi-nerdy college student, it was the decision to make new friends with a more open, positive attitude. (The first person I met was moments after making this attitude-adjustment decision. He is now my husband.)

And now as I gently drop-kick myself out of the bliss-bubble, I’m committing myself to this and forcing myself to put IT out there. For all of the internet masses to see. The highs, the lows, the real, the fictitious.

I just can’t keep it to myself anymore. Not if I have a snowball’s chance in Old Scratch’s homestead of being successful.

“IT” being the need to write. To breathe life into characters. To share a story. (Ok, and to sometimes commentate on my daily screw ups in hopes of learning from them.)

This is acting as the spark to my creative outlet in hopes of accomplishing my dream of being a successful romance novelist.

So join me as I flail out of the bird’s nest. Take a few minutes to read and have a laugh, as I try to grasp life’s lessons, even if I hit every branch on the way down.  Go ahead, pour yourself a glass of your favorite relaxation beverage of choice.

I’ll wait.