In the search for a new land, I retread the path we all walk each and every day.

I wake up.  The day feels ______.  I feel ______. I ______.

This day feels “open”, I feel “ready”.  I “engage”.

After a night of whack, crazy-whack-funky dreams, I awoke at 0631 this Saturday, and the first thing I did was brush my fangs.

In this dream, a person who speaks volumes of judgement, largely behind peoples backs, yet smiles in their faces, was helping the city workers dispose of a trash can full of twigs/branches outside my parents house.

Note: said house no longer belongs to my family and I have not seen this person in years.

All week, my brain housing group spewed some weird dreams in the nocturnal rest time.  I woke up each day after these crazy dreams feeling anxious and, generally, BLECH.

I shook it off each day and moved on.

For I chose NOT to give form to the emptiness.  I chose to not relay these dreams to another human , for that action may create an imbalance.

Surely this person is not dreaming about me, or even thinking about me.  IF they are, well, that sh*t is about THEM, just as much as my dreams featuring them are about MY SH*T.

Also, I had a new mattress delivered last night (one notch firmer than the mattress which I slept on for the last two months) and wrapped up Stephen King’s 2014 release Mr. Mercedes.  So much could have contributed to the emission of these thoughts that formed a dream, that to investigate it would likely give me another dream which left me feelings of _______ & _______.

Who wants that sh*t? Not this guy.


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So I got my body moving, watched some sports network stuff to see if the Phila hockey Gods were smiling, and walked my dogs.  Rain is on the way.  My bloodstream now contains caffeine, and I have tennis in an hour.

I can see the new land, because I made it up in my head.




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