Can You Stand On Your Head?

What Are You Afraid Of?

I'm too scared to sleep.

...so I'm sleep-depriving myself as much as I can...

Unfamiliarly scares me.

...but I get bored with the mundane...

I don't like telling people anything about myself.

...that's why I force myself to blog it....

Always Dreaming, Always Tired

Last night I had a dream. There were bugs covering my bed. Evil little red bugs the size of dust particles. I tried brushing them off, drowning them, and burning them. Nothing worked. My attention was suddenly diverted, however, when a duck waddled into my bedroom through the crack in the door. I have never had much experience with ducks, but in the dream it was a viscous little thing. Before I knew it, the duck had attached its bright orange beak firmly around my calf, its little teeth tickling me as they sunk into the fabric of my pants. I tried shaking the animal off, but it would not budge.

The next moment, Steve swung open the door carrying a crowbar. He fit it in between the jaws of the duck's beak, loosening its grasp enough for me to shake it off. The duck launched across the room, straight out my bedroom door, hitting the adjacent wall with a small plunk. But the duck was not done with me. he tried to waddle back in, but Steve quickly took large tongs and veered the duck into the bathroom across the hall. Thinking quickly, I turned the bathtub water on, quite possibly the best idea considering the situation. The duck happily jumped in, causing me to sigh with relief. But alas, the duck was still there. The problem was not solved, just temporarily distracted. What to do now? The duck jumped into the basket on the other side of the fictionally massive tub. This could be it. The duck was contained, all we needed to do was collect the basket without the duck escaping. Steve reached across the tub, grasping the basket's handles which quickly folded into each other, creating a handbag rather than a basket. Success! Relief!

The duck struggled within the bag, jerking from side to side. It did not want this containment, but the door was so close. Fumbling down the stairs, I quickly opened the front door for Steve to let out the duck. I stood alertly next to him, waiting to slam the door as soon as the duck crumpled onto the ground. Steve jumped back inside, I slammed the door, and the duck gave us a sour look through the window panels surrounding the door.

The duck was gone, the blood on my leg was drying, and we were safe. Until we went back to my room and the bugs swarmed around us....

This is when I woke up. My sleep is full of dreams. I dream at least four times a night. Dreaming is not restful, so sleeping is almost pointless. But yet so necessary. What causes dreams? How does my subconscious come up with these things? How do I quiet it? So many questions, but for now, I'll drink my coffee and pray for a restful night.

Oh Darling, I Wish You Were Here

I woke up this morning to an empty house, an empty cabinet, and since it was 8:30 and I have to be at work at 10:00, there's not a whole lot I can do about it. Maybe I'm not the most independent person -- I miss my sweetheart even if I have seen him the night before. I especially miss him in the morning. I know we're getting married in six weeks, but that almost makes me more impatient. And patience has never been my strong point.

I never really expected to be getting married so young, but why put off something when you know. I still get butterflies after two years. We've traveled (part of) the world together and haven't killed each other. I've never feared for my heart's safety with him -- that's love.

Maybe this is a bit overly sentimental. But love, joy, happiness, letting go of dignity and fear. These are important and should be shared. It is easy to share our heartbreak, but love is more difficult. We keep it hidden deeply within ourselves. Why is that?