Amaryllis sillyramA

[Morning. I am in the shower. The girls are up and about — the five year old is on the loose in the living room, and the two year old is in her high chair finishing her yogurt. Their daddy is upstairs sleeping.]

My train of thought:

Oh, hot water, I think you might be my best friend.

…Quiet out there now. Order restored. Gotta love the daddy.

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I am astonished it took so much typing to get down about 1.5 minutes of wandering thoughts.
Also: where is my mind?

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* I don’t mean my kids. I mean kids in general. Who might get the wrong idea about the viability of a severed head from watching a cartoon. But then they know it’s made up, don’t they? I’ll bet they have no problem with that distinction.

We used to let the 5 year old watch The Simpsons and Futurama, from when she was a baby until she was three or so. She loved it. Probably something about all the bright colors and music and funny voices. But then there were a few, shall we say, Language Incidents.

Incident #1: she was joking around with daddy and said, in sly disagreement with him, “No it isn’t, you very bastard.”

Incident #2: she was on her way out of a room, and to say goodbye to her daddy and sister, she said “See you later, losers!”

HA! But yeah, no more Bart after that, and definitely no more Bender.

Last night I dreamed I was smoking a cigarette. I often dream of smoking but I never know that it is a dream, so I always feel guilty about it. Like I have ruined something. Like the not smoking for over four years is erased and I will have to start all over again because of one lapse.

So usually when I wake up from one of these dreams, I say to myself, “If I’m smoking, I’m dreaming. If I’m smoking, I’m dreaming.” To try to train myself to know I am dreaming next time. Partly because it would be nice to be able to enjoy the cigarette. (How ideal! Smoking without really smoking!) But also I would just like to train myself to be aware that I’m dreaming when I’m dreaming. And maybe then learn how to change the dream if need be.

So last night, in my dreams, I’m walking along a path in the back yard of the house where I grew up, and I’m smoking. And it dawns on me that if I’m smoking I’m dreaming! I know I’m dreaming! I say to the person with me — hey, this is a dream, what should we do? And the person doesn’t believe me. So I decide to show them that it really is, by flying. Then I don’t know what happened, can’t remember, but wow! It worked! Yay! Can’t wait to try it again.

The beautiful picture above was taken by a very talented individual named Justin Mclean. He has graciously made it available under one of the Creative Commons licenses. I’m not sure how to do a proper attribution, so please correct me if I’ve messed up in any way.

I dreamt I was walking with Captain Janeway in a dark place and she offered me a cigarette out of her pack of Exports. I had to tell her I don’t smoke anymore.

I dreamt of a kit. When I was done putting it together, it was a green chrysalis inside a cardboard tube. The tube was warm to the touch. There was something emerging from a crack in the chrysalis. It was snowy white. It looked like feathers. It came out, and it was a mouse and it ran to hide.

I dreamed I had a choice between an AK-47 and a high power rifle. I chose the rifle. Someone placed a target on a faraway tree. I aimed and fired, and hit the target. Felt a little like Ezri Dax, maybe. Then I felt bad about shooting the tree.