I used to like to keep track of my dreams. Whenever I stopped telling someone close to me about my dreams, I knew we were drifting apart. I don't mean my hopes and fairytales of the future. I mean my actual, neurotic, acid tripping dreams. I mean when you shut your eyes and your mind tries to fit a Trex wearing a sweater vest through a Cheerio because if you can't make it work there will be dire consequences. This particular dream sounds sort of biblical to me now that I think about it. Something about a camel passing through the eye of a needle? I blame REM sleep plus decades of Catholic upbringing. But I think my visuals are way cooler.
Other than cataloguing weird dreams for my future, inevitable psychological evaluation, I guess I blog because I'm restless. At this moment, I'm on break at work staring down a long day with a queasy beer hangover and naught but a cup of coffee and egg sandwich to ease my suffering. Id rather be home in bed dreaming about dinosaurs. First world problems.
