(no subject)
HORRIBLE dream about Meredith and I at the beach. Truly horrendously awkward.
I hate beach dreams - I have a recurring unpleasant dream about waves that just bring you under again and again and again, that reach further up the beach than you think, that pull you out too far, that are stuck by a temporary sandbar and push you into the sand before throwing you up. And there are always thousands of crushed and broken seashells, and islanders who don't pay attention. And somehow we're always searching for some guys that live in the condo next to ours, and we're out searching around the sand dunes and gazebos, trying to find those elusive cute guys we were supposed to meet.
I'm tired of the recurring dreams. For goodness' sake, I have a million of them. And recurring themes, characters, problems.
Bright side? I can usually pinpoint the cause of a dream. Mom showed me the beach house again yesterday while I tried to print her a map of it's location, I wrote a message to Meredith last thing before I went to bed, and I told Kish the story of my friend who came out of the closet while we were spooning at a sleepover. Put the three together, and you have the awful sex dream stew that my mind cooked up. Borsht. Scrapple. Bouillabaisse. Goulash. Casserole. Pot-au-feu. Ratatouille. Jambalaya.
Jambalaya.
I decided to name a dog Jack Bauer someday.
It's also made me flurry with what other TV names I could stick on pets.
I hate beach dreams - I have a recurring unpleasant dream about waves that just bring you under again and again and again, that reach further up the beach than you think, that pull you out too far, that are stuck by a temporary sandbar and push you into the sand before throwing you up. And there are always thousands of crushed and broken seashells, and islanders who don't pay attention. And somehow we're always searching for some guys that live in the condo next to ours, and we're out searching around the sand dunes and gazebos, trying to find those elusive cute guys we were supposed to meet.
I'm tired of the recurring dreams. For goodness' sake, I have a million of them. And recurring themes, characters, problems.
Bright side? I can usually pinpoint the cause of a dream. Mom showed me the beach house again yesterday while I tried to print her a map of it's location, I wrote a message to Meredith last thing before I went to bed, and I told Kish the story of my friend who came out of the closet while we were spooning at a sleepover. Put the three together, and you have the awful sex dream stew that my mind cooked up. Borsht. Scrapple. Bouillabaisse. Goulash. Casserole. Pot-au-feu. Ratatouille. Jambalaya.
Jambalaya.
I decided to name a dog Jack Bauer someday.
It's also made me flurry with what other TV names I could stick on pets.