Oh, Pardon Me While I Dream.

Sailing on an ocean of stars the galleon with its beautiful figurehead, heads of into the night. As it sails the dream bringer unfurls her cloak and a myriad dreams spill out in its wake.



I have been trying to keep up with my dreams these past few months. I have always entertained the idea of having a dream journal. My dreams, for all of my life, have been a constant source of idea's, creativity and of course entertainment.

I have remembered almost all of my dreams at some point or another... even to the point that de-ja-vu has been eerily reminiscent of my actual dream that I wrote down at one point.

I have had funny dreams, prophetic dreams, learning dreams, dreams that I have interacted with deceased loved ones, alter ego dreams, out of body dreams, flying dreams, sexual dreams... you name it, I have dreamed it.

I remember after first getting my black horse, Beauty. I dreamed I was sitting on her in my favorite yellow shorts, bareback. I could see my brown thighs, feel her soft hair and how free I felt!
The next morning I tried it, and it was exhilarating! I loved having her run, wide open, just clinging to her back and mane!


When I was 18 and newly married to my, then, husband ; I had a dream that I was smoking. I could see the cigarette in my mouth, smell the smoke, see the smoke coming out of my mouth... So I tried it, and smoked for a few months... off and on for the next 10 years.


I had a full on conversation with over 30 of my deceased relatives one night, while pregnate with my daughter. Each one of them hugging and encouraging me to be strong and face the trauma I was going through with the strength of my heritage. My Grandma then wrapped me in a pink blanket and told me that my sweet baby girl was going to be just fine, to just relax.


I have also had dreams of crashing airplanes, wreaked cars, dying friends, and relationships coming to an end. Maybe in a way they were psychic dreams, but I feel they were more intuitive than anything. Mainly because they were so far ahead of the actual event.


I have also had one thing happen alot lately, that I need to explore, and the reason for me even bringing up the subject of dreams.


I seem to be bumping into people in my dreams.


The thing is, these people are complete strangers to me. They may be dead. I may have operated on them, or seen them at the local grocery store.. and in my subconscious I am placing them into my dreams. But for just a moment, lets pretend that these people are themselves dreaming... at the same moment that I am. What if, you can "bump into" other peoples dreams?


Take this last one, for instance. I was dreaming I was driving through Pampa Texas. I was in the downtown part, where the streets are bricked. I came to a house that I was, in my dream, going to to visit my friend Trudy. I started walking through the house, and came face to face with a nice elderly lady. She had white hair, glasses, blue slacks and a white blouse. "Oh, pardon me!" she said, "I didn't realize anyone else was here!" she exclaimed. "Oh, I'm just passing through, I was looking for Trudy, but I see now that this isn't her house" I replied. She looked at me a second, then said... "no, not in this house... in this dream, I thought I was alone here". She sat down in a velvet chair, and said "I grew up here, I was just trying to remember it."


I politely left, a little upset that she had shooed me out of her dream... not that she told me to go, I just felt like I was intruding.


When I woke up that next morning, I still felt a little puzzled. Did I really interrupt someones dream? Had I barged into someones childhood home? Was there a lady, thinking the same thing about me? Who was she? Why was she here?


I could use this for all rights a purposes and write a great story from it. SO what do you think? Are there such things as invading others dreams?


Whats your favorite dream that you remember?


I'll keep you posted on this story idea, I think it may be.... The One!

New Book... Chpt. 1 (rambling, getting started)

Prelude:

I'm not a stable person. I haven't been for some time now. My mind works in ways that nobody can explain. I know I have been a little inaccurate with the way I perceive some things. But at this moment, I am WAY off the mark.
I was still standing on his porch. I am still staring at the pile of absolute JUNK I had just piled onto it.
Silly things actually, things like his barbque grill, his steaks, his ash trey, condoms (not used), shirts, legos, a coat. Things he or his son had randomly left in my garage or home over the past year.
I am angry. I had just been dumped like a piece of trash. So I was doing the same thing to him, in my own way.
I slowly turned and walked back to my car. Suddenly remorseful, I started to go back and clean up the mess I had just made. He didn't deserve this.. not just because I wasn't the ONE for him. He had been nothing but nice to me and the kids up until the day he broke my heart. I surveyed the pile of crap on his porch and decided it was much too massive to even begin to clean up. So instead, I chose to call him and warn him instead. Might as well have him stop and clean it up before he picks his son up from my house right? Drew doesn't need to be a wittness to my instability.
Like I said, My mind perseives things differently than other people. Thus seems to be the reoccurant pattern of my life.


Chapter 1.

If I had the money, I would deffinatly take my things, my children and run away from my problems. I would be a runner. I would run to far away places where nobody could find me. Start a new life. Meet new people. Have new problems.
However, seeing as I am a very poor, very single, mother of two. I get to just hide under the covers of my bed, in my little rent house, in a very little town in Texas.
The constant reminder of two very wrong men smiling at me through two very right children.
I can tell you this much, being a mom is the best thing I do. I love everything about being a mother. I love my children with every breath I take. But the anguish I feel for what I have done to them by being single, and them having no father figure or role model in their life, that takes a toll on the mind as well.
My poor daughter has been through 14 years of my delimas. She has been the cause, the innocent bystander, and the reason for some of my break-ups. She has suffered along side me, and also suffered quietly in her own head. She is one of the smartest, most intelligent people I have ever known. And it scares me to death!
My son, well, with his big grey eyes, his dark brown hair, his chubby little cheeks and his big boy swagger, he just bounces along in this crazy current and just trusts and smiles at me. I am his world. I hope it stays that way for a little while longer.

We had been through this before. The sudden uprooting of love. My daughter had grown accustome to seeing a man one year, and suddlenly never again. However, this one was esspecially hurtful. He had a son. A sweet, energetic, funny little boy, that had weaved his way into our hearts, and fit perfectly in the middle of our strange little family. Casey was precious to me, and losing him was one of the hardest things I have ever had to endure.
I would be cleaning house and come across a piece of Bionical, and burst into tears. His trusting smile and 8 year old wisdom was so enduring. He loved me like I was his own mother, and I loved him. Simply put, He was my son.

After the day I piled Michaels front porch high with trash, I never saw him or Casey again. That chapter closed with a slam. I had messed up big, and the only ones left to suffer the confusion, was the three children.
Casey was never allowed to speak to me again.
My two soon forgot about Michael and Casey, Just a few out of the blue questions from my son, and a snide comment here and there from my daughter... and it was done.

Lost Thrill....

I grow so weary, someway, of all things

That love and loving have vouchsafed to me,

Since now all dreamed-of sweets of ecstasy

Am I possessed of: The caress that clings—

The lips that mix with mine

with murmurings no language may interpret,

and the free,Unfettered brood of kisses, hungrilyFeasting

in swarms on honeyed blossomings Of passion's fullest flower—

For yet I missThe essence that alone makes love divine—

The subtle flavoring no tang of this Weak wine of melody may here define:

—A something found and lost in the first kiss

A lover ever poured through lips of mine.

My Loneliness..........

My lonliness is self inflicted,
I created it within my own thoughts.
I'm not holding people at arms length,
I'm beating them away with a bat.
I can't hold on to someone I never let in, Never really had....
but I can't seem to forget the kindness, patience and kiss.
I have givin so much of myself to these people of the past,
I feel I have just shards left to give.
I reach out to make new friends,
But my voice falters after "Hello".
Social skills gone, the will to trust.... hidden.
How can I recover something that is so far gone?
I am not a solitary person, yet here I sit in a solitary world.
Created by me, my own personal hell.
I continue to reach out for love and draw back a nub,
Friends are losing patience, so is my own mind...
Hold on, hold on, hold on... I'm trying to cure the inside.

Here I sit, on My Nest...

Just looking to try this thing out

This Is Me....

This is me.....

The tired eyes you see,

the hair in a mess from work and plenty of exasperated fingers being raked through.

This is me....

The woman in the worn t-shirt, shorts and flip flops,

wandering through Wal-mart with a hunger for anything but cartoons or chicken nuggets.

This is me...

With breasts that sag from years of nursing babies.

With a c-section scar and tummy pooch...

with a strong desire for someone to kiss that doesn't smell of cherry suckers or Fritoes.

This is me...

With haunting memories of lovers past, and the realization that they would not even know me now if they saw me like I look today.

This is me..

The woman that makes eye contact with you in the checkout line, the sparks fly, we feel the magnatisim...

then your wife walks up and it is over.. that few seconds of excitement just enough to get me through the rest of my night.

This is me...

That craves strong hands and stubble burn, instead of sticky hands and little feet in my face. Who craves the smell of a man in the hot and sweaty embrace of sex.

This is me..

Alone in a bed, aside from the cat and some crumbs from this mornings toast and dressing fiasco, the woman that longs to be held and yet is relived to have silence...

This is me...