I'm a Dreamer, not a Fighter...Right?

I've heard that you only really remember dreams that you have if your sleep is disrupted during them. And I've occasionally remembered dreams here and there. But recently (and now that I think about it, ever since I've been taking medicine for my crazy brain disease) I've been having super intensely vivid dreams.

One in particular involved me babysitting several canines and murdering a pet fish by refilling the jar with boiling water, all while my apartment was burning down. Weird. I know.

But I have noticed a recurring theme in a number of dreams. They all take place in different types of bars and clubs (because we know I frequent those types of locations ALL THE TIME). And each one escalates into a knock-down, drag-out honest-to-goodness bar fight. And that has transferred into an odd desire to get myself into a REAL bar fight.

I guess I'll continue being a crazy cat lady, sans cats, to avoid any criminal charges coming my way...

Why [not] Me?

I just finished watching National Treasure for the first time. It was on television, so I imagine it was not in its complete form. Regardless, I just loved it. Mostly because there's something so unexplainably thrilling about a treasure map, a dark and dilapidated cave or tunnel system, the bad guys on your heels, and the promise of a huge reward.

I can think of so many movies that follow this general plot....Indiana Jones, The Goonies, Pirates of the Caribbean, just to name a few. And I only have one question. How come I never get to go on a treasure hunt, following clues, and solving puzzles?

Taking Flight

Last week I found myself dropping off and picking up people at Reagan National Airport two days in a row. I will leave out the part where I get lost both times, as per usual, and end up going the extra long way. I had never been to Reagan before last Tuesday. And the really cool thing about Reagan is that when you drive in on 95, the planes have to fly directly above you in order to land and take off. They come SO CLOSE. It kinda feels like a movie or something.

Every time I fly, I feel like a little kid on Christmas as soon as the plane lifts off the ground. There is something so unreal about it. If you told people 100 years ago that by the end of the century, air would be the primary form of mass, long-distance travel, they would think you were outside your mind. So I never cease to be amazed at the complete surreality (is that a word?) of taking flight.

And then I think about my dad. He's a pilot. He gets to fly every day. And while I am aware that airplanes are different from his Army helicopters, I always wonder if pilots feel the same every time they take off. Or if they realize just how cool their jobs are. Not everyone gets to defy the laws of gravity for a living.

Every time I see a plane in the sky, I start to wonder who is on it, where they're going, and why they're going there. And if I'm on the plane, I wonder the same things, but more. I like to make up life stories about my cabin-mates and decide whether they're leaving or coming home, what they do for a living, and sometimes I develop these epic stories about how there are people on the plane who are long lost best friends and bump into each other in line for the lavatory.

Cause the world is funny that way. It brings people together and pulls them apart a million and a half times a day. You pass another car on the highway. For all you know, the driver of that car could end up being the president of the USA in a couple decades. You hold a door open for someone at the grocery store, who's to say that he or she isn't going to be your boss at the job you start next year? The person you sit next to on the plane, you may never see again. But then you never know.

So we go about our daily lives, generally keeping to ourselves, and waiting for the world to send us crashing into our next exciting discovery. And in the meantime, I'll keep watching the planes.

Pass it on.

Pass the parcel. That's sometimes all you can do. Take it. Feel it. And pass it on.

That was the last line of the movie, The History Boys. It's a movie I've had from Netflix since approximately April. It's basically the most expensive movie rental in the history of the world. But it's okay. It was a weird movie. But I found that very last line to be SO TRUE.

I like to think that every experience we have in life changes us in some way, even if very minimally. Most of the time, those little instances have no effect upon our daily lives. But there are other times when a split second can completely change the way you view the world. And then that view becomes part of your life. You start to pass it on to other people.

I've found that this has been happening to me a lot lately. Except I am taking negative attitudes of others and turning them into my own. I'm not a negative nancy by nature. I always try to look at the upside of every situation before starting in on the downside. But lately I've caught myself immediately thinking the worst of every situation.

So I'd like to take this opportunity to pass THAT parcel. But not to anyone else. Just pass it away. Nobody needs negative energy. And I'd like to go back to being my old eternal optimist.