Archive for July, 2009

Recurring dream

July 26, 2009 - 10:38 pm Comments Off on Recurring dream

I have a dream every few months in which I’m sitting in an airplane. The plane always has an unusual seating configuration, not always identical, but it is wide across, and only a few rows, in a full sized plane. After we take off, there’s always trouble, from flight gear problems to full fledged crash. What on earth does that mean?

Last night I was in a plane that had maybe 10-15 people sitting across, but only about 10 rows. It was mostly empty. I was happy because I was in a bulkhead row, so I had a ton of leg room. I stuck my bag under the seat caddy corner to the left of me. The flight attendant then came on and said she needed to add a row, so she swung one into position right in front of me. We took off and developed engine trouble right after – had to land immediately. I wondered if I had accidentally left my cell phone on and caused the issue. Resolved to turn it off as subtly as possible so that nobody would arrest me.

Drifting Away

July 25, 2009 - 5:00 pm Comments Off on Drifting Away

I wasn’t really surprised when it happened. After all, I’d been having the dreams for years. A slow drift up, a kicking off, and I was afloat. Like air was water. Like I was on the moon.

Most people, when they have flying dreams, imagine themselves zipping high through the air, looking down at the ant-like specks of people below. Zooming, like a jet. Targeted. Ballistic. Not me. I dream-fly in lazy, languid arcs, a casual flick off whatever stationary object is nearby used to change my trajectory. More a low-gravity leap than flight, really.

And so the day after the night of a week’s culmination of insomniac tossings and turnings in bed, my consciousness itself was drifting in one of those lazy arcs. I felt caught between the tasks of the day and the siren song of the snippet of dream from the night before (or was it two nights ago?) – I was arm in arm with a friend, and we were skipping in long, powerful leaps across the — oops?

As I daydreamed, I tripped. As I tripped, my dream memory took over and I instinctively leapt. As I leapt, I stayed afloat in the air, wide eyed, afraid to look down in fear that I would encounter Wile E. Coyote Syndrome and reality would come, literally, crashing around my ears.

I extended a leg. Pointed it earthwards. Came drifting gracefully, if a bit wobbly, down. Looked around. Nobody notices anything in this damned city. I’m undetected for now.

So now what? I can float through the air. What sort of heroic incredible power is that? What am I supposed to use it for? I mean, something like this, I should be wearing a cape and have a fancy pseudonym and join a consortium of similarly-enhanced individuals, right? Because to be honest, all I want to do is go out on a moonlit night to the park and jump, and jump, and jump.

What’s this all about? Visit My Super First Day to find out.


July 13, 2009 - 6:07 pm 2 Comments

The problem with finding a good book is that, when it’s over, I go through a sort of grieving process. For the characters and the story. I miss them and wonder how they’re doing. And I want to have another experience like that again, where I get so incredibly involved in someone else’s world for a while, but the prospect of kissing frogs while searching for a prince is just so daunting that I have grown ever more hesitant to pick up another book. So the more books I’ve read that I love, contrarily, the less likely I am to take a chance on another book. An overall trend, perhaps, of wanting to stay comfortable in my own little zone?

What’s got me all angsty, you might wonder? I just finished The Thirteenth Tale by Diane Setterfield and even though I knew I was hastening it towards its end, I couldn’t put it down. Instead of getting out of bed this morning and brushing my teeth, I picked up my book and carried on from where I left off last night when I fell asleep reading. For a girl who grew up reading and re-reading Jane Eyre, it was absolutely wonderful.


To get there, my previous two books were The Road by Cormac McCarthy (supposed to be incredibly powerful and moving; I found it pointless) and Within the Shadows by Brandon Massey (puerile).

I feel like my time is too valuable to waste on crappy books, but who am I punishing by going on strike? I need a royal book tester, is what I need. I had high hopes for, but their search engines are really… sub par. Every “Best Of” list has at least one Twilight book on it. Honestly, guys? And I dunno, my tastes run maybe not 90 degrees, but some discernible difference from the pack. The Historian only has 3.5 stars on Amazon, but I think it’s the best thing I’ve read in years.

Sigh. I dunno. I’m gonna try some Agatha Christie next, I think.