Blurg: the People of Your Dreams

I have decided to call the following a "blurg"—that's short for blurb-blog, a.k.a. this is going to be shorter than a pygmy leprechaun. Here goes...

Has someone you don't know well ever figured prominently in one of your dreams? This doesn't usually happen to me; my dreams are pretty normal (for the most part) and usually involve the people I spend the most time with, which typically means that I know them pretty well before I dream about them.

Well, this week it did happen and I had the most bizarre sensation after I woke up: I felt closer to this person. And not in a way that went away after a few hours. I still feel close to this person, I still feel like I understand them better, I still feel like they're someone I can depend on. It's the weirdest thing, because I don't remember anything about the dream at all, just the fact that they were in it. I'm only slightly worried that this will make me act weird around this person... who wants to be the person that gets known for acting-like-they-know-you-better-than-they-do? (I've only experienced this kind of person a few times, and I think they're weird. I don't want to be one.) But at the same time, it's almost like pretending that you don't know someone that you actually do know, you know? Anyways, this was supposed to be short. I quit.

Hip-nap-sters

I woke up this morning in a sweat, hoping that I could turn off the alarm fast enough that my brain would jump back into my dream, so that I'd be able to finally see what was on the screen and finally understand what I'd been dragged through in the past few hours of sleep.

It all started in a red house with a clean, new cement driveway and lawn of crisp, green grass and forest growing up in the backyard. The driveway came up to the side of the house to a garage, so positioned to be invisible from the street. Inside that garage, there was some old farm equipment, so that, from the inside, the garage actually seemed more like a barn with a cement floor. On the back wall of the garage, tall planks of wood had separated, letting in long crevices of light, which were joined with spots that had come through empty knots in the planks. I was standing in this garage, reading a long message that had been spray painted on the floor. I don't remember exactly what it said, but it had something of the look of a logo, but with far too many words for a logo. In my mind, I knew who had done this, and I was annoyed. There were people with me, and we were talking about the paint on the floor, calling the artists dirt bags (and d-bags) and laughing annoyedly about it.

Suddenly, the garage was opened and a large group of people came in. They were gloriously dressed in their best ironically chic vintage hipster clothing, and they had come to take us. There were probably fifty of them, and only 3-5 of us (though, of course, I don't really remember much about them), and they were kidnapping us. We were packed into a long line of cars and we were headed to St. George. I protested, knowing that I was supposed to sing at the funeral of a stranger. I was tempted to lie to those who had kidnapped me, to tell them that it was my grandma's funeral, and how dare they keep me from going to my grandma's funeral. I was appalled. Once we arrived in St. George, we entered a large house. It was kind of like there was a house party going on, and I was being dragged around by the lead female hipster who was going to tell me all about her adopted "cause," her raison d'etre, the passion of her life, after which I was going to have to listen to every other cause adopted by every other person I'd come in contact with.

I was furious, and terrified. Even as I summon the memory, I feel little tremors of fear. Why was I so frightened? What was it about these hipsters and their stupid causes that was freaking me out so badly?

I only know that I was about to find out just what her cause was, and even though I was scared, I was suddenly curious enough to want to know what the heck had inspired this person to kidnap me and take me to St. George. ...

And then the alarm went off.

I wish I could sleep for a very long time, at least until the end of my dreams. It seems so unfair to have to wake up and not know, almost like my brain knew when I was going to have to wake up and left me with a cliffhanger. Dreams are so strangely fascinating. I kind of love them a lot. Even when I'm being kidnapped by hipsters and it scares the bajunk out of me. :)

Dreams Gone Awry

Sometimes, we have dreams that go awry. For example, a few nights ago I dreamed that I was kissing Alan Rickman. And no, not this kind of Alan Rickman ...

... who is, ya know, kind of a little bit attractive. He's got a little somethin' somethin' going on. But no. It was not that kind of Alan Rickman. It was definitely more like this:

and maybe a little of this too ... but with clothes ...

Oh. And add some Snape robes in there too. Because that's what he was wearing.

Now, I need to explain something here. It was one of those dreams where you have extremely heightened senses. For about half the dream, I had something stabbing me in the ribs, and when I woke up it took me a minute or so to convince my brain that there was nothing that was actually causing pain, and that I was okay. It had just hurt so bad in my dream that my head couldn't let go of it. So with this dream, as I was kissing this old dude, I was very aware that he had very crusty lips. (And he was a really bad kisser. Just saying. Even in my dream, I wanted it to be over ASAP.)

Alas, I now have this trouble: I am haunted by this dream, and his nasty old crusty-crusts. Just looking at those pictures of him gives me the willies because I got creeped on by him in my dream. I mean he is OLD. So inappropriate and weird. Also, every time I think about it, I have this resurrection of the sensation of those crusty-crusts on my lips, ... which is followed by a swift desire to sanitize and moisturize them. Mine, I mean. As I write this, I am fighting it because my brain keeps saying, "Hey! Remember this?!" And I'm like, "NO FOR THE LOVE OF PETE STOP!!!!! I DON'T WANT TO REMEMBER THAT!!!!!"

Because really, yuck, who would? Unless you're one of those creepy people who thinks Snape is hot, or you're married to him, or you're an old fart who knew who he was before he became one of the most hated (though eventually loved and/or appreciated) characters of the most successful fantasy series of all time. Then maybe you would want to...

But I doubt it. Woof.

You know, I really hate when this happens. When you wake up and say, "That would have been a good dream if ..." for example, instead of kissing Alan Rickman, I was kissing Zac Efron or Ben Barnes or even Taylor Lautner.

But no. It had to be Alan Rickman. And why? I have no freaking idea why. Where does this come from? Do I have a secret crush on Alan Rickman that even I don't know about? Pardon me Alan, but heaven forbid. That would be super creepy and uncomfortable. I mean, there are a thousand other people that I think about on a day to day basis ... Him, not so much. What bizarre recesses of my brain are in control of this?

Does this ever happen to anyone else? I feel like I always have these really intense, memorable, and frequently very strange dreams, but I rarely hear other people talk about theirs. I mean, when I wake up and have a weird dream, rest assured my entire apartment will hear about it within about 12 hours. Probably within 12 minutes, if everyone's awake and at home. That's just the way I roll.

Why do dreams sometimes go awry? Why do we have nightmares and creepy dreams and other things? Why can't all dreams be good? I mean, what purpose are they even serving? Particularly the bad/weird ones? I just don't get it. And I wish they wouldn't. Or that I could forget it when they do ... ughhhhhhhh.

This Must End

You may have noticed that I haven't blogged anything in the past month. I owe this to the fact that I was overcome with some sort of self-consciousness since there were people (besides the people who always read it and/or hear about almost everything I write about anyways) who were reading it. I know you aren't judging me, so I don't know why I got so self-conscious about it, but I did and that's the truth. So I have about 50 (no actually it's only like 5) drafts piled up in Windows Live Writer that are just waiting to be finished, because I can't really compile my thoughts suitably. Basically I just didn't like what was coming out. However, I've come to the realization that I really need an outlet. I've been going crazy over the past couple weeks, and I think it's because I haven't taken the time to write my thoughts down and clear out all the excess gunk in my head so that I can actually function like a normal human being, which is what I'd really like to do with myself right about now. I can no longer keep these things to myself. The silence must end. NOW.

So I have a couple of things going through my head right now, the first of which is my sociology class. It's just Soc 111, nothing special. I mean, I really like the class and I think it's totally great, and I found out that Jake Heaps is in my class today, which is kind of interesting I suppose. Anyway, we had these big old papers due a couple of weeks ago and we just got them back today. Which wouldn't have been a big deal, except that I found out that my printer sabotaged me. For those of you who don't comprendo, here's what happened:

The Violent and Tragic Destruction of Page Four

Yeah. I turned that in. (Moment of Irony: "Dancing Through Life" from Wicked just came on my iTunes, and the line that says "mindless and careless" played right as I uploaded these photos. Well said, Fieyro. Thanks for pointing out my own idiocy.) I mean, do you see how heinous that looks?? It's so embarrassing that I let that slip under my radar. I should know better. This happened to me once in my first semester, and it was just as embarrassing, only less because I actually knew the person who was grading it. (Why is it more embarrassing when a stranger grades it??) But yeah. How could I let it happen? I remember being in such a hurry, and that I was a tiny bit late to class that day... Gosh. Lesson learned. I no longer trust my beast of a printer, not a bit.

In other news ... I had a great moment last night after Heather and I went on a walk last night. We ended up getting home at like 1:00, and I stayed up doing who knows what until like 1:30-1:45ish. I go into the dark bedroom and proceed to prepare myself for bed. Being that it was dark, I had to turn my lamp on, which totally woke Natalie up. I really didn't mean to, but I didn't adjust the angle of the lampshade as well as I thought I had, and it was terrible. To my surprise, however, she sits up a little bit and starts talking to me.

"What did you win?" she asks. I, of course, am confused as heck. What did I win? What on earth is she talking about?

"I don't know what you're talking about," I say back, continuing to change into my pj's.

"She had a Wheel of Fortune thing out there. What did you win?"

I still am extremely confused, but also extremely tired, so I kind of ignore the question and keep getting ready for bed.

"By the way," Natalie says to me, "This isn't dream talk. I'm awake."

Oh really?

I give some kind of non-committal response and go brush my teeth. By the time I'm done, she's asleep again and I go to sleep.

This, of course, is not the end of the story. As I'm putting on my makeup this morning, Natalie comes in to do the same and asks me, "When did you go to bed last night?" I tell her that it was 1:30, 1:45ish that I went to bed.

"Did I try to talk to you last night?"

Oh yes. Yes, you did. I told her this, at which point it became very funny. I admit, in the middle of the night, I was more confused than amused, though it was a funny moment. It was one of those moments when exhaustion made everything less funny rather than more funny. Once we were both fully aware that she was totally like, dream-talking to me, we both laughed. Like I said, it was funny.

This brings up something else that I'd like to talk about. Have you ever had a moment when you have been trying to nap, or have accidentally fallen asleep, or you're trying to go to bed, and then someone wakes you up or says, "Oh yeah, she's asleep," but you find yourself either suddenly conscious, or you simply hadn't fully fallen asleep? I know it's a confusing way to put it, but I think you understand. You're all intelligent folks. Have you ever noticed that whenever this happens, you often feel this sudden need to alert everyone around you to the fact that you're awake? It seems so important! They have to know that you weren't asleep. Never mind the fact that you're completely incoherent and the only thought that IS forming in your head is "I'm awake. They have to know I'm awake." All the while, you're just proving that you're totally not awake OR coherent. So silly, and yet it always seems like such an urgent matter... Funny.

In other good news, the BYU Bookstore had a $1 Book Sale! It was great. I didn't even know it was happening, and then this girl who was at a focus group that I went to (which I'll tell you about in two shakes) told us that she went to it. And I was like, "BOOKS FOR A DOLLAR? Sign me UP baby!" So I went with my awesome amiga Katie, during the time that I should have been in class... but the focus group was gonna make me 15 minutes late anyways, and I think it's so rude to interrupt class like that, especially a class with only like 30 people in it, that I just can't do it. So I skeeeeeped. Whatever. No big deal.

Anyways. I'm going around and I find all of these great books. Like FIVE great books that I want super bad. And I think to myself, "It's so great that I have been keeping my wallet in my backpack lately!" (I usually don't, because I usually leave it in my purse, also because I don't want to have money for food when I have food at home that I can eat.) And then I realize that no, I do not have my wallet. I had to lend Natalie some money last night so we could pay our electric bill and my wallet wasn't there. So I think, well if Katie has money with her, I can pay her back pronto once I get my wallet. Alas, Katie's wallet is not in her backpack either. Desperate for these books, I head to the register to beg this girl to hold the books for me. Then I see my friend Glen from Missouri who happens to work at the Bookstore. The girl, of course, tells me that she can't hold the books for me. I try to explain that it'll only be 15 minutes and I'll be back with my wallet. She still can't do it. Glen, naturally, hears my predicament and offers a suggestion: that I hide the books in a box underneath one of the tables and then put another box on top of it. So that's what I did. I then ran home to grab my wallet.

By this time, I've got a time crunch because I wanted to walk home from class with Rachel, so I needed to go and get my wallet, get back to the Bookstore, buy the books, and get back over to the sound circles in front of the JFSB at 12:50. Naturally, when I get home, my wallet is nowhere to be found. I look everywhere I can think of, including my bed and the closet where the washer and dryer are. But all my searching is in vain. I'm starting to get antsy, and my brain is saying, "God doesn't want you to have these books!" and my heart is fighting with my brain saying, "BUT IT'S GOOD TO HAVE BOOKS! AND THEY'RE ONLY A DOLLAR!!! PLEASE!!!!!!!" I start sending out frantic text messages to my roommates, trying to figure out if any of them saw it or know where it went. But it's no good. No one knows where my wallet is, and I'm starting to have horrible visions of people going under the table, pulling out the top box, and finding all five of my darling $1 books in the bottom box, then laughing as they twirl their curlicue mustaches and cradle my books beneath the sheath of their black cloak (total Bowler Hat Guy style). Terror was running through my veins. It was horrendous. Just as I'm about to give up, I see a bump under the rug. Lo, and behold, tis my wallet. So I ran back, retrieved my books from the box (you can't imagine my relief when I saw them there), purchased them, and ran to meet Rachel to walk home. It was great. Here's what I bought:

Snapshots by Michal Govrin

The Work of Print: Authorship and the English Text Trades 1660-1760 by Lisa Maruca

Sky in a Bottle by Peter Pesic

The Beautiful Fall: Fashion, Genius, and Glorious Excess in 1970s Paris by Alicia Drake

Flaubert: A Biography by Frederick Brown

Quite the mix, wouldn't you say? I'm actually really excited about all of them. The first one, Snapshots, was translated from Hebrew, and it's written by an Israeli woman who has won every single one of Israel's literary awards. The Work of Print is more historical, and talks about the changing concept of authorship and print culture during the Enlightenment period. Then there's Sky in a Bottle, which is also kind of historical, and talks about the changing understanding of the answer to the question, "Why is the sky blue?" through history, art, science, and the works of classical philosophers. Sounds fascinating, no? The fourth one, The Beautiful Fall also sounds interesting. I've never read a book about fashion and stuff before, and it looks super cool. The last one, Flaubert, is probably going to be the hardest read of all, but we just learned about Gustave Flaubert and Madame Bovary in my French class, and it sounds like he had a kind of crazy life, and I'd like to understand more about him. So that'll be cool. But yeah ... pretty fun, huh? I'm stoked to read them. Also to amass a larger collection of books. I love books. Oh so very much.

Anyways, on to the focus group stuff. Today, as I was hanging with Rachel and Katie and we were chilling on some of the couches on the third floor and I'd accepted the fact that I was absolutely not going to get to take a nap when a man walks up to us and asks us if we're doing anything over the next hour and would we like to attend a focus group with some consultants from the East Coast. We said okay and followed him into a classroom where there were a couple people hanging out in front of some blueprints of the Wilk and a computer with a slideshow going on it.

The purpose of the focus group was to discuss how students use the Wilk currently, and what could be changed to make the Wilk more appealing to students, and what might draw them to the Wilk during the evenings, most particularly on the first floor in the Post Office/Bowling Alley/Outdoor Adventures area. It was actually really interesting to think about why I go the places I go in the Wilk, what kinds of changes I'd like to see, what kind of changes they're thinking of making, and what I liked and disliked about the proposed changes.

And let me tell you, those changes look COOL. The study won't be over until January, and then I'm sure it'll be some time before they actually put those changes into action and actual construction, but I really want to be here when they happen so I can actually use them. They really look awesome, and they could make that area down there so hoppin' I would probably never want to leave. Okay, that's a total exaggeration, but it is going to be awesome. Be so excited for the future, guys! It's gonna be FLYYYY :)