Recently, I started keeping a dream journal. Yes, it can be a hassle at six in the morning to fumble for a pencil and write barely legibly with tired arthritic hands in the dark. Alas, I've elected to use voice to text, and that either makes me lazy or cutting edge! You might be wondering why I'm even recording these random Freudian videos that stream in my mind during my short restless nights. I suppose I'm just fascinated by the pure audacity of some of the story lines that rage unchecked in my cerebral cortex. Upon waking up, they seem to make sense, as if I actually had a very good reason to be riding a giant lobster while wearing a tutu. But taken as a whole, compiled over time, perhaps they will reveal a deeper insight into just exactly what the heck is wrong with me (insert laughing or crying emoji here.)
Now, I'm not one to read the tea leaves, as it were, into what my dreams may represent or predict. If I crash my car in a dream, should I be extra careful at every red light? If I show up at school wearing only my tighty whities, should I just stay home in bed for the day (great idea!) Does a volcanic eruption mean I need to remember to take my anti-acid? In last night's episode of "dreamsville," I hung out with some of my old buddies from high school. Dreams have an amazing ability to recall familiarity and feelings, and that old bond between friends was palpable. I woke up with a good feeling. It's been too long since I've given them a call, or even sent a text. That seems a shame. I'm glad I remembered to record it in my dream journal. I think I'll give those guys a call today.
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