Official Resolution #1: I will daydream more.

I fell into the habit of thinking I was lonely as a kid because I was usually alone. The thing is, I wasn't lonely. Ever. I had plenty of company in my stories, whether I was thinking them out in my head, or playing them out physically, or even--clumsily--writing them out. My first story was about a girl with no voice who must, nevertheless, save the world from evil. I found my voice while she overcame her own silence.

Through middle school and high school my stories matured, but they were still as vivid and vital as ever, taking over my thoughts. I'm relatively certain they're what kept the anxiety at bay for so long.

I had my iPod on shuffle tonight while working on my Faulkner paper for American Lit, and, right in a row, three of my old favorites came on--the Backstreet Boys, John Mayer, and Snow Patrol. (Yes, I know the latter two are still performing, but these were from old albums.) All three were songs I used to listen to on repeat on my Walkman, working through a scene. I felt fiercely homesick for the simple joy of creating a story for myself.

I need to daydream more. I think it'll be good for me.

What does it mean? In my dream last night I cuddled with a hot, young pandit in a movie theatre (we were front row, if that makes any difference to your interpretation) and just as we started to kiss, poisonous gas started leaking in through the vents. But nobody panicked. Then my neighbors' loudness woke me up.

So, what does it mean? The priest, the theatre, and the gas? I really can't make that one out.

My psych professor did, however, tell me that I 'dream interestingly.' We were talking about sleep and dreams in class, and he asked if anyone had ever dreamed lucidly, and I tentatively raised my hand. I hate raising my hand, because I hate when the freshmen look at me like I have every answer because omgzerz I'm a junior. Doesn't work like that, kiddos. But, anyway. He called on me and asked if I'd ever been able to repeat the experience, and I answered--again tentatively--"Um... I can't remember ever dreaming any other way."

Then, when he asked about sleep-talking, I raised my hand again, though a few others did, as well. For night terrors, as well. And for hypnagogic and hypnopompic images. He seemed impressed that I knew those names, but, goodness; I may be taking Psych101 this semester, but I too 200-level Psychopathology last semester.

I do have weird dreams though. I've been thinking about it a lot. There's that nightmare where a deer ate my face (don't laugh, it was terrifying!), where I killed the hummingbird, where the Yankees attacked a swimming pool and the elderly Confederates stood no chance (and I on my big black horse fell into the pool and drowned and my soul floated up to the roof and looked down to watch the burning bodies). There was the dream about the Buddha head and the tsunami (a beautiful one), the circling staircase, the one where my cats were actually humans in disguise. Weird freaking dreams, man.

Any weird dreams yourself?