Dream Journal

So I did something sort of cool today, and I’m sure it’s obvious with the title of this post. I started a Dream Journal. Yes, I already have the Positivity Journal going, and you might be wondering why I would want/need to start a Dream Journal too. I don’t really need to, and while I don’t think it will be some major or majorly positive factor in my life, there might be some cool end results to it.

The last several times I’ve slept have been rife with insane dreams. There have been some weird ones. There have been some unsettling ones. Some that were upsetting. Many that woke me up. The weirdest thing about all of it is that they’ve all been sticking with me several days after the fact. Usually I’ll forget a dream shortly after I wake up and only have a few that I remember well. (I have issues remembering much of anything.) But most of the dreams I do remember were either upsetting enough for me to remember them, or were dreams that I’d written down at some point or another. (That underwater zombie dream five years or so ago will probably stick with me forever. It was a weird one, that’s for sure.)

I feel like remembering so much/many of them lately was sort of a sign that I needed to write them down, so that’s what I’m doing. It only took me a few minutes to type up the most recent ones, so this won’t really impact time spent on anything else. (Especially not when considering I’m too incoherent when first waking to really accomplish much of anything regardless.) I’m not actually writing them down, partially because I don’t want to, partially because I can keep it all better-organized on Herald (again, laptop), partially because it’s much faster for me to type, and partially because I’m already running through paper like crazy with the PJ. I think I’m just going to go by the months – have one file with what I remember of that month’s dreams, then move on to the next.

The last time I kept a DJ was in 2007. I was somewhat obsessive about dreams for a little while there, picking mine apart and doing the ‘relation’ thing. Like, if two people had the exact same dream, it would mean something different for each of them due to personal feelings about whatever objects were in there, situations, etc. I’m trying to think of an example to get this across, but the only one that’s coming to mind is one I can’t say because it was mine and I think it gives too much away. Hm. Working around the specifics of it . . . Okay. I had a dream back then about a certain type of animal that reminded me of a specific person. Rather than being cute and cuddly like said animal is supposed to be, it kept injuring me and ended up being poisonous (despite not being even remotely poisonous in real life). That specific person had done something very similar in my real life. I wouldn’t have made the connection of it if I hadn’t written it down, despite how obvious it was.

I’m not doing that sort of thing with this. I don’t have the time to pick things apart to that degree. (And one can assume that if I’m dreaming about horses and actually make note of the saddles in said dream after watching Merlin and making note of the saddles in the show . . . that’s probably why. Or having a dream about talking to my friend’s mom about the 70’s after talking to that friend, and after watching an episode of Girl Meets World where they ‘went back’ to the 60’s . . . that makes sense. Though I still can’t find any reason as to why Jared Leto was in a dream, playing some weird version of my favorite non-MC character, but I can understand me freaking out and screaming to him about how he was messing it all up. Even recently seeing him on Jimmy Fallon doesn’t really make sense of that. Really digressing.)

Anyway, I’m not trying to connect anything to my actual life. I just think it might be fun/funny to look back one day and be like, “Wtf?” I have some majorly weird dreams, even if it doesn’t sound like it with the ones I just mentioned. Those were just tiny little things in each of them. (Like in the ’70’s’ dream, it was in a restaurant and I was yelling at my sister about beans. Don’t ask me. Just another tiny thing in it.)

If all else fails, I might be able to find some little snippet of something to spin into a story if the day ever comes that I run out of potential stories. Nowhere near that (running out of stories) as of now. Maybe in forty years or so.

Anyway, that’s been my morning so far, apart from being unable to stop thinking about doughnuts from the doughnut store down the street. O.o

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The strange things people do in their sleep…

I do weird things in my sleep, or so I’ve heard.

It’s kind of funny, when thinking about it, that people who would be in the know about what I do in my sleep never deem it worthy to inform me of those things in a reasonable time frame.

I didn’t find out that I talk in my sleep until I was 22 years old – while my husband was deployed – and walked out into my parents living room one day only for them to ask me, “Were you talking on the phone last night?”

Um, no.

So, after being informed that they’d heard me talking, I decided to call Best Friend. I asked, “Do I talk in my sleep?”

Her response was, “Yeah.”

That was one of those how could I know that if you didn’t tell me?! moments.

Countless sleepovers throughout the years (we used to spend all weekend and nearly every day of summer and school breaks together), and she NEVER TOLD ME.

I’ve been known to sleep with my legs straight up in the air, tickle my arms, and do all sorts of EXTREMELY strange things. I think those two things are enough for anyone to know in that department. Too much, actually.

Yes, I tickle my arms in my sleep sometimes. I know it’s weird. TRUST ME; I know it’s weird.

Talking in my sleep was the most disturbing of things I’d heard I did by far. Needless to say that when my husband was preparing to return home from that deployment . . . I was afraid, despite having slept next to him for however long before that unwanted parting.

I’m unsure how long it took for Husband to inform me that I do not SPEAK in my sleep. I mumble – incoherent words that my brain must know, but not want let out. I’m a mumbler in general though, so I shouldn’t be so surprised. Still, I AM surprised, as my mouth is a constant frustration-inducer (it so rarely does what I want it to). I’ve mumble-sang in my sleep once before. That was interesting to hear about.

After so long of being irritated that nobody deemed these things worthy of telling me, I’m kind of glad now. Husband and I were talking about this a few days ago, and I got so uncomfortable at some of the things I do (the mumbling, which I wake him up doing because sometimes I apparently argue with myself, or some unknown person in my dreams [I call it fair because he wakes me up grinding his teeth and giving me the occasional *knee-jerk* in the rear], heavy sighs that also wake him up [I suppose I’m as discontent in my sleep as I tend to find myself while awake . . . such is the curse of nothing ever being good enough to suit me]) that I’d rather ignore the fact it happens at all.

Now, my husband also does some things in his sleep. There’s the teeth-grinding, which has lessened significantly from when he and I first met. But he, also, talks in his sleep. Not as often as I do, because I allegedly do it nearly every time I sleep, but when he does . . . it’s clear.

While in Alabama a few months ago, he woke me up doing such a thing and the only two words I heard were, “Soul cairn.” He’d been playing Skyrim and he loves video games in general (as do I, but his love for them goes above and beyond). What can I say? There’s not often that I can wake up out of a dead-sleep and laugh my ass off; I usually don’t consider myself awake until I’ve had my eyes open for at least an hour. I did that day. I laughed for several days about that. I’m laughing about it again now.

But there was a one or two week time period about two months ago that was just . . . unprecedented. I’ve only heard him say things in his sleep a few times (which might be due to the fact that I am generally a HEAVY sleeper), so when it happened three times in that time period . . . I don’t even know.

Once, he woke me up laughing. I asked, “What are you laughing at?”

He was dreaming about a dude on skis falling.

Once, while he was napping, I asked him where the extension cord was. He said, “It’s under the fish tank.” This was after we’d returned to Kentucky. Our fish tank is still in Alabama, with our former roommate. He didn’t know he’d said it until I managed to wake him up by VERY firmly saying, “THE FISH TANK IS NOT HERE.” He informed me he was dreaming about the fish tank that time.

The one that will forever stick with me was me walking into the bedroom to inform him I was going over to my mamaw’s to eat potato soup (I believe). He sat straight up in bed and literally almost shouted, “Good day!” at me. I thought he was saying it just to say it, as he seemed completely coherent and being strange/random isn’t off-base for him. Imagine my surprise later when I bring it up and get the scrunched-eyebrows-confused-face and, “Did I really?”

Good day! is now a running joke with us, understandably so.

I’ll probably regret posting about the weird things I do in my sleep, but who really cares?

Hopefully somebody gets a laugh out of it.

Failing Words and Suds

I didn’t sleep well yesterday.

At this point, I’m not sure if I should blame it on the windows letting too much light in, the fact that I should’ve known better than trying to fall asleep after the sun came up (without the windows covered), or all of the thoughts and ideas swirling around like little smoke clouds inside of my head.

I’m going to do this tomorrow.  That’s something to do.  There’s a new bit of something to add to the game plan.

I’m sure it was a combination of all those things.  So forgive me (in advance); I’m far too tired to have the sense of what I do and don’t want to say.

While walking upstairs from my last cigarette break, I was thinking about bubbles.  Not the pretty sort with the little rainbows on them, floating around easily before they burst apart in a spray of tiny suds.  I’m talking about the kind of bubbles that we find ourselves trapped inside of periodically throughout life – or that we step into willingly.

My life is a life of bubbles, I realize.  It sounds ridiculous; I’m coherent enough to know as much.  I’m trying to find the words to explain it correctly and I’m failing.  I hate feeling like I’m failing words.  I can’t express how much I hate it.

I lived in whatever bubbles suited me best at whatever time when I was growing up.  Varying colors, varying opacity, varying space.

I’m not sure that I really knew what that meant until now, thinking about the way they’ve changed for me…or the way that I’ve changed for them.  I’m not sure.

When I was writing my books, I was stuck inside of these impermeable bubbles.  I couldn’t see out of them.  I don’t think that anyone could see inside of them.  Maybe they could a little and I was too busy admiring the beauty of it alone from the inside.  They were so beautiful.

I’m inside of a new one now – one that I can see out of clearly.  I can see all the beauty outside while it passes by me.  Life.  Life is beautiful, no matter how much bad we experience throughout the course of each of our own.

Right now?  I feel like I’m stuck here, waiting for that damn bubble to pop.

I think we’ve all had our moments where we felt like life – in all its intricacies, and roads, and deceptions, and potholes – was passing us by.  I think we’ve all felt stuck before.

My problem right now is I can’t explain the difference in that feeling and what I’m actually feeling at this moment.  They are two COMPLETELY different things.  And I’m failing words again.

I’m so sorry that I can’t do you better justice.

Taking a step back.

Those moments of feeling stuck while you were watching life…I know that every time I’ve experienced it, I always felt that some force was holding me back from what I wanted to do – whether it was myself, situations, or another person.  THAT is how this moment is different.  There’s nothing at all holding me back, but there I am, still trapped and watching.

It’s new.  Almost equally unpleasant.  Possibly more so because I can’t really understand it.  Possibly more so because I’ve allowed myself to be open to the endless possibilities.  Possibly more so because I finally have a dream.

It will happen.  I know that it will.  I don’t care if it’s my own determination, some talent that I can’t actually see, or just the natural way that bubbles disintegrate and disappear when exposed to the air.  It will happen.

I need to work on my patience.  With myself.

I know this was way deeper/emotional/ridiculous than my usual entries.  Sorry.

I just figured I’d try that thing where getting stuff out makes you feel better.

Nah.

I’d rather write a book.

I don’t fail words so easily when I’m doing that.