I Had the Weirdest Dream Last Night…

In all fairness, compared to the typical unusual level of my dreams, last night’s was extremely tame.

I dreamed I was going to the hospital for important surgery, but on my way to the car I decided to head back into my house to grab a notebook and some more miso soup.

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Once inside— where I was suddenly a tavern worker— I decided to help myself to the soup on the table of this husband and wife. The soup was now bean soup for some reason.

As I was leaning over their table, helping myself, the woman stood up and accused me of hitting on her husband. I was shocked. Then she just kind of disappeared, and something fell into the pot I was ladling out of.

I asked her husband where she’d gone. He said she was a witch, and was now in the soup. If she was in the main soup pot on the table I was safe, but if she’d fallen into MY soup bowl and I ate it, she would kill me by burning all the flesh off of my body.

I knew that I probably shouldn’t take the chance, but I still kind of wanted to eat it, because it was¬†really good soup.

As I was deciding what to do my cat jumped on my face and woke me up.

It’s Maaaaaaagic!

I’ve had some stupid ideas in my life, including some which I’m very proud of.

But my ‘most stupidest’ of thoughts are the ones which cycle through my head daily…like laundry…but if laundry was something that was supposed to take pristine clothes and roll them around in dirt. [In case none of you noticed, I just wrote a poem]

…for example, my idea of “perfection” involving me magically becoming a person who does not need to be perfect:

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…or my obsession with happiness, living in the present, connection, and finding meaning being the biggest roadblocks to me actually achieving those things:

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But maybe, after all these years, I’ve developed a soft spot for these ridiculous yet endearing things I do.

No. No, I haven’t.

A Sensible Life, Part II: School for Therapy

I recently decided to go to school for therapy. By that I mean: go to school to become a therapist, not use school as a form of therapy.

It was a mostly logic-based decision as far as a career was concerned. I’ve always had interest in psychology, (and much more recent interest in helping people), so my choice wasn’t completely out of left field.

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On a separate note, I was recently struck with an idea for a short story:

The main character is a therapist, who gives up on his creative dreams. Soon he finds himself—day in and day out—tasked with supporting others to follow their dreams instead of settling for second-best.

At first, it’s rewarding. But then it becomes too much…. And any client of his who decides to pursue their dreams, come what may, tragically gets murdered and stored under the therapist’s floorboards.

***

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Who can say where ideas come from? Sometimes inspiration hits at the strangest times. I may find the time to write this story while I’m applying to graduate school, or I may not. At least I know where my priorities lie.

P.S. The TWIST at the end of the story is that the therapist’s office was on the third floor, and he’s been dropping bodies onto the person beneath him for years.

Not very considerate.

On Poop, Carrying it with You

I realized this yesterday, when I had to double back to the park to throw away a bag of poop for the dog I had just walked.

Unwritten rule:

  • You can carry poop with you in a bag. Totally fine. Totally cool. In fact, it’s a positive thing because it means you didn’t leave poop on someone’s lawn or for someone to step in.
    • Still…hard to believe that in a society which considers pooping to be a very private activity, that it’s accepted to pick it up and carry it with you.

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