Category Archives: dream

Most of them are little animals made out of glass, the tiniest little animals in the world.

Howdy, people. Here it is Monday! I think I have the day off. Since I’m writing this Sunday, that’s still up in the air. One of the things about working these weird hours at the part-time job is that I never know what the hours will be, or when they’ll be, until right before they happen. Some people might dig that. I’m kind of a weird planny planner. I like knowing what I’m doing today and tomorrow and a month from now. I’m kind of an old-person like that. When they give those tests to see how spontaneous you are, I always score a -14. I made that score up. (Ironically, when I do something spontaneous, I almost always have a very good time once I get over the “ZOMG PLANS CHANGED!!!” mindset. Don’t try to figure me out. You’ll fail. Miserably.) Anyway, I may or may not have the day off today, because for the past few weeks I’ve had Monday (or Tuesday, on the holiday weekend) off while the HR rep who makes the schedule over there figures out where she can use me for the week. That’s nice because it gives me the day to get things together for the week because once the work-week starts I’m pretty brain-dead. It’s not as nice because I really should be working seven days a week to make the money I’ll need at the next paycheck-time to pay the bills, but you take what you can get.

(Update update! No day off today for me. Working the night shift because the normal night-shift person has the day off. They were SO NICE about asking and called in the middle of my shift last night all “please please?” and whatever, it’s not like I’m breaking off some very important date for this or anything. All my romances will have to WAIT, I have to WORK. Heh.)

That being said, as long as the hours are and such, as always, I am very grateful to have the hours, and it’s nice over there because for the most part I know what I’m doing and I like the people I’m working with and I feel comfortable with it. I’ve been there about seven and a half years now, and they’ve been very good to me – working around my work hours, giving me time off when I need it, giving me extra hours when I need them. I’m totally capable of saying thank you when it’s warranted.

Thank you, part-time job which has become my full-time job for the time being. Without you, I would be probably living in my car, or under an overpass, or (ZOMG SHUDDER) with my parents again. Also, last week, even though I made some mistakes (I make some boneheaded mistakes – we answer a LOT of calls, and with call volume like that, it’d be completely impossible not to make at least a FEW mistakes every once and a while) I got to learn two new high-level skillzzzz and that made me feel like a fancy-person. I told one of my favorite co-workers that it was exciting and scary, like being at the CARNIVAL, and she just laughed and said, “Um, okkkkkkk” because I’m pretty sure they think I’m nuts. But in a good way. Good-nuts. So, anyway. Thanks, part-time job. You’re a lifesaver. I appreciate you so much.

Exciting! Scary! CARNIVAL!

So, yeah, I know I’ve been MIA a lot lately. (No, not the SINGER. MIA like MISSING. Sheesh.) I miss you guys like crazy. But it can’t be helped. Have to work. No internet at work. And most likely, no internet (or unlimited usage of the internet) at whatever job I end up at in the future. Not if I want to stay there for any length of time. I guess I learned my lesson. Sigh. It’s hard to be a grownup. Also, according to the song, a pimp, apparently. Also, I’ve been majorly depressed. I don’t so much want to talk about that. It’s genetic and it comes and it goes. And when I’m depressed, I don’t talk much. Because there is nothing more annoying than someone who’s all “poor ME wah WAH.” So I just kind of retreat into my metaphoric pots-and-pans cupboard (as opposed to Dumbcat’s actual pots-and-pans cupboard, which I assure you is a real thing.) I’m not saying I’m not still depressed. It’s not like it just goes away. But – well, shit, unless you don’t deal with this you don’t know. It’s kind of like a cloudy day.

Cloudy cloudy cloudy.

Sometimes the clouds come in and just kind of linger, and sometimes you get a break with a little sun peeking in through the clouds, and sometimes there are whole weeks or even months of fully sunny days, but the clouds can always move back in. So today the clouds are at bay, but they’re still there. Shoo, clouds. Shoo it on off. (Yes yes yes. I am aware there’s medication. I’ve tried a billion different types/brands/dosages. Ok, a billion is an exaggeration. But lots. None of them have done anything other than give me weird side-effects like one made me so dizzy I knocked over an entire display of glass things in a store. They didn’t make me pay for them, thank goodness. But once the meds were out of my system, no more dizziness. Anyway, since all the “Amy is a antidepressant guinea-pig” phase of my life, I decided no more antidepressants for me. I’m sure there’s some brand out there that would work, but life’s too short to try every medication in the world. Also, all the glass things in the world need to be protected from me. There are only so many small precious glass things in the world! And they are at risk if I take more pills! BLUE ROSES!)

Waitin’ for the Gentleman Caller…

Whoo, that was long. Anyway, yeah, it’s been kind of dark in Amy’s head lately. It probably still is. I mean, I’m writing this a full 24-hours ahead of time. Who knows what I’ll be feeling tomorrow. But please do not worry. I’ve been through worse than this and came out the other side. I’ll come though this just fine. Because this time around, I have a support system that I can’t even say enough good things about. I’ve never had a support system like this before. If I made it through previous dark-times without people before, there’s no way I can’t do it this time. Love you guys. You and you and YOU. No, no, Ding Dong Joe. I don’t love you. Just as a friend. We’re just not compatible. You like a life lived without pants; I like pants a great deal. I hope you understand.

Oooh, look, a book for Ding Dong Joe! This book is most likely filled with euphemisms.

(Someone please tell me they totally got the “blue roses” reference up there or I’m going to cry all the tears.

You did, right? You all love Tennessee Williams as much as you should? Good, good.

SIDE NOTE! I actually had a DREAM last night. I know! I don’t ever have those. I had a dream I lived in a big house by the ocean with a woman from work, my friend Mer, and a guy. I don’t remember who the guy was. He might not have been a real person. And they were all actors, and I was a stage manager. And we were working on a new Neil LaBute play. And it was awesome and fun. Then I woke up so I don’t know what happened next. There were big set pieces that had to be carried across the beach. I remember that. It was nice. I like knowing that sometimes my brain still works in the night.)

OK. Off to work. Night shift today (well, my today is your yesterday, little cauliflower florets. And you know what they say about yesterday. All my troubles! So far away!)

so I have to steel myself up for that. Luckily, I work with some kickass people Sunday nights. A couple of weekends ago, we laughed so hard we had tears. It was about a typo. The typo was this: it was supposed to say “The Bridegroom Cometh” and it said “The Bridgegroom Cometh” and we were all, “Here I AM! Standing here on the BRIDGE! Waiting for you to MARRY me! Where ARE you? Why are you TAKING so long?” and it was late and we were sleepy and it made us SO LOOPY and FULL OF GIGGLES. We are, it bears mentioning, adults. Not goofy teens. I love my Sunday night ladies. And of course my one Sunday-night fella, who is one of my favorite co-workers. Listen, I work with some wonderful people over there. It cannot be denied.

Happy Monday, people of the interwebs. Enjoy your week! Also? Hey. I don’t say it enough. I love you guys, you know? Totally do. Don’t go telling people, I’ll lose my badass rep, yo.


Remember when I was mad I wasn’t dreaming? I take it back. I TAKE IT BACK.

Five more days of work until this hellishness is over. FIVE MORE DAYS. I’m crossing days off my calendar like a person incarcerated.

For fun, the system where we release our efiles went down earlier in the week. It came back up today, only it was running…veeerryyy….sloowwwlllyyyy. So it took me four and a half hours to do a two hour job today. Four and a half very, very painful hours. Without Twitter. Still. My mother, who is the IT person at her company, swears it is not the fault of my IT department that I have no Twitter. Others are in agreement; they think, as I suspected, that if IT had blocked Twitter, I’d get the traditional THIS SITE IS BLOCKED page, rather than the weird “this page can’t load due to a slow connection” page I’m getting. It’s a moot point, though. It’s not like I can ask my IT guy about it. “Hey, IT guy, so I am having problems with my internet? Can you look at it? What site am I having trouble with? Oh, Twitter. Yeah, it’s not at all work-related. I’m using it to keep my sanity during tax season. Sooo…what’s up with the weird screen, any ideas?”

In news of the adorable, The Nephew was on vacation in Florida for the past few days. He just got home, and my mom saw him tonight. His mother said, “Ask The Grandson about the alligator!”

My mom said, “The Grandson, did you see an alligator?”

The Nephew was confused and said, “Noo…”

His mom said, “But he did EAT some alligator when we went out to dinner one night, didn’t you, buddy?”

Aw, Nephew! Please don't eat me!

“The Grandson! Did you eat alligator?” my mom asked him. He nodded. “What did it taste like?”

He thought about it for a minute. Then, “It tasted like food,” he said.

I LOVE MY NEPHEW MORE THAN ANYTHING IN THE WHOLE WORLD. “It tasted like food.” AWESOME. Not chicken, like everyone says. Nope. He cut right to the chase. It tasted like food. Just like food. Nice call, pumpkin. I love your brilliant little brain, and the thought of watching you grow up and getting to talk to you and to share your life with you makes me so happy I’m grinning until my face hurts.

This is going to be random, guys. Sorry. My brain hurts.

I was reading this article today about something. I have no idea what. It’s been a day. And apparently? In Germany? There is a political party called The Pirate Party.

This is their LOGO. It is a SAIL. Come on, how jaunty is this?

They are also known as the Pirates. I’m not going to pretend to know anything about this party. Ken can probably fill you all in if you want details. I’m woefully inept about politics. From what I can see on Wikipedia, they look like they align with good things that I like?  But they could be all evil weirdos, I don’t live there, I don’t know. ANYWAY. You know the minute I saw Pirate Party I immediately had a mental picture of pirates in political office, wearing traditional pirate garb. With parrots on their shoulders. Saying “arrr” and “avast ye mateys” and when someone lied or got caught schtupping an intern, they wouldn’t be impeached, they would walk the plank.

"Arr! Vote for us or we'll pillage your homelands!"

I totally like this idea, and it has made me very happy for at least an hour. If Ken comments and says the Pirate Party are a bunch of weirdos and everyone in Germany hates them, I apologize in advance. But I don’t regret my happy mental picture of pirates running the government. They would drink grog and they would have pieces of eight and they would sing jolly pirate songs. IT WOULD BE AWESOME. It would be like the Rent Is Too Damn High Party guy, only SO MUCH MORE FILLED WITH AWESOME.

Sorry, Jimmy McMillan, but pirates are cooler. However, you have somewhat piratical facial hair.

Oh, I know you’re probably totally all wondering? Raylan did NOT take his shirt off last night on Justified. It was a great episode. There was gunplay, and fisticuffs, and some awesomely gross gory stuff, and at one point I cried until my eyes hurt, but NO SHIRTLESS RAYLAN. Siiiigh. Oh, well. I suppose there’s always next season.

I am currently watching episode after episode after episode of The Good Wife because I have allowed myself to get shamefully behind on it. It’s like eating an entire box of cream puffs. IT IS SO DAMN GOOD. I am finally caught up and it is AWESOME. Seriously, you’re all watching this, right? It’s like a who’s-who of all the best actors in the land. And it’s INTELLIGENT. Also, sometimes it makes me cry. I do so like a show that makes me cry. That’s my favorite.

Also, it has Kalinda, and I have a crush on her a mile wide.

Oh, also, I have HBO now, because of Game of Thrones (WHICH IS AMAZING THIS SEASON) and saw a preview for Aaron Sorkin’s new series, The Newsroom? And it looks AMAZEBALLS. Dammit, dammit, DAMMIT, HBO. I do NOT want to keep you, because you cost an extra $20 a month. I do not like spending money I don’t have. However, if it comes out this summer, I suppose I’ll already HAVE HBO, for True Blood. So maybe I can be two-birds-one-stone-y. I have a serious Aaron Sorkin addiction. It’s kind of worrisome, actually.

These glasses are too small. Small glasses make me laugh. SO SMALL, AARON SORKIN!

Oh,shit, also, ZOMG. SPEAKING OF ADDICTIONS. OK, you know how I am obsessed, obsessed, ob-SESSED with musicals, correct? One of my favorites: Les Miserables.

Just SEEING this makes me happy. Bee tee dubs, this is coming to the fancy theater near me this year. Am I going to see it again? Yes. Yes, I am.

I’ve seen it four times now, I think. Listened to the recording so many times I can randomly quote lyrics. Once, on The Simpsons, Principal Skinner was at a garage sale, and he picked up a prison helmet. On the helmet? The number 24601. I SQUEED SO DAMN LOUD. If you are a Les Mis wonk, you are squeeing right now, too. If you’re not, you’re all, “WTFFFF.” 24601 was Jean Valjean’s prisoner number in Les Miserables, so it was this tiny shoutout to the musical. It was SO EFFING AWESOME. Also, I’m obsessed with Eponine? Because I’m totally Eponine. I am ALWAYS EFFING EPONINE. Dammit, it is not always the most fun to be Eponine. Spoiler alert: Eponine dies bloody with no boyfriend. And Marius was an asshat, because Cosette was weak and annoyingly perfect and Eponine RULED.

Another one of my obsessions? Neil Patrick Harris.

What happens when you put these two things together in the MOST AWESOME WAY POSSIBLE?

ZOMGGGG. NPH playing Javert and adorable Jason Segel playing Valjean and THEY ARE SO SO CUTE. Even though I won’t watch their show. Because, laugh track.

Also, this just illustrates my point: every day would be made better if made into a musical. Obviously, they make every day a musical at work. WHY CAN’T I DO THAT AT WORK. I try, but people give me all the glares. So mostly I’m just humming randomly under my breath all the time. Lately, it’s been The Civil Wars’ “Poison and Wine.” You all know and are duly obsessed with how sad and wonderful this is, right?

I got my lovely friend B. obsessed with this recently so we like to tweet each other our mutual obsession with listening to it OVER AND OVER AND OVER. I’m sure we’re mega-obnoxious to everyone following us. To that I say, TOO DAMN BAD. My current favorite lyric is “I don’t have a choice; I still choose you.” Seriously, click and listen. The harmonies are gorgeous. B. and I would love to get others as obsessed as we are so we can feel a little less alone in our obsession with the prettiest, most melancholy song in the history of ever.

Alright, kiddos and kidlettes, it’s late, I’m exhausted, this post has had no point, and I’m sure you’re all scratching your heads? Yep. Me too. LISTEN. I am not getting enough sleep; I’m waking up every hour or so GASPING. Like I’m a fish out of water. It’s off-putting. However, remember how I wasn’t dreaming because maybe The Sandman had stolen my dreams in an evil plot or something? I had TWO DREAMS recently! I know, it’s all very exciting. I forgot one. The other one was really the oddest? I won’t say the people’s names, because it will make them nervous in case they happen to read this. A friend and I were walking on the beach. EXCITING! BEACH! And he said, “I don’t think I can hang out with [REDACTED MUTUAL FRIEND] anymore.” And I was sad! Because I love REDACTED MUTUAL FRIEND! So I asked why, and he said, “Well, because he’s in love with me.” And I said, “I don’t think he is. He’s married. To a LADY.” And Friend was all, “No, he is. And you are, too. Everyone is.” And then I got VERY MAD at Friend, and was all, “WAY TO BE FULL OF YOURSELF ASSHOLE” and then we started making out and then Dumbcat jumped on my bladder. In real life. Not in the dream. So that dream was over.

My dream-beach was rockier than this. Lots of rocks. I'm sure that means something, interpretation-wise. Like, "rocks mean you have HURDLES TO OVERCOME," right? Shit, I'm good at this. Someone should pay me.

According to a totally shady and pop-uppy dream interpretation site I found that I’m not linking to because I think it’s trying to give me a virus, the beach means I’m torn between the mental and the physical; walking means I am progressing toward my goals; the friend means I’m about to get some positive news; the argument means I have internal conflict; and the making out with a friend does NOT mean I am in love with him, which I am SURE he would be pleased to hear if I wasn’t being so secretive about who he is, but “represents your respect and adoration for your friend. You are seeking some intimate closeness that is lacking in some waking relationship. It may or may not signify a romantic interest for him or her.”

Oh, shit, wait, “may or may not.” SHIT SHIT SHIT.

Maybe it was better when I was NOT dreaming. Now I’m all torn between two worlds and goal-oriented and getting good news and internally conflicty and possibly in love with one of my close friends who I TOTALLY WAS NOT EVEN AWARE I HAD FEELINGS FOR BEFORE NOW. Well. Thanks a LOT, dream. Now the next time we interact, it’s going to be VERY awkward, and I will NOT know where to look. And possibly, I’ll accidentally say something like, “HA HA HA just like when we were MAKING OUT THE OTHER NIGHT ON THAT BEACH.”

Eff. Is THAT ever going to make things tense. THANKS A LOT DREAMS.


It’s only a matter of time before I’m riding a pegasus with Joseph Gordon-Levitt, this is going to be great.

OK, first, before I get going:

EVIL ROBIN UPDATE.

SO MAD.

I called home tonight and I was all, “Hey, what’s up with the robin?” and Dad said, “That stupid robin is gone.”

The robin was gone when he woke up! It didn’t even come back today! This is the worst. I wanted CLOSURE, dammit.

Jim found us a link that explained the robin was attacking its own reflection because it thought its reflection was a competitor or some such nonsense. Well, good gravy, Robin, why so fighty? Make love not war, Robin. Especially not with my dad’s window, he didn’t like that one little bit.

OK, now on to the festivities. WHAT. We’re totally having festivities. EVERY DAY IS CARNIVALE AT LUCY’S FOOTBALL. Isn’t it?

So we were discussing dreams the other day on Twitter. More specifically, how I am broken, as I don’t have them. I mean, I DO, I suppose. “They” – the all great and powerful nebulous “they” – say that even if you can’t remember your dreams, you’re having them.

I totally feel ripped off. I think I would have the BEST dreams. I would WIN dreaming. I’m very creative. I can make up a story out of NOTHING. I do it ALL THE TIME. So therefore, my dreams would be full of bunnies made of rainbow yarn and being able to fly and staplers that talked. OH SHIT AND PEGASUSES. Right?

Well, who the hell knows, because I don’t even remember the last time I dreamed. Dreamed? Dreamt? Doesn’t dreamt look stupid and affected, like a hipster would say it? Spellcheck says it’s not a word. However, spellcheck says 99% of my posts aren’t words, because I make shit up. I think I’m sticking with dreamed. I don’t know if it’s the meds I’m on or just that I’m so damn tired but I can’t remember a single dream going back to last summer, that I recall clearly. And that one sucked, I was back in high school. WAY TO RIP ME OFF, LAST DREAM I REMEMBER.

ANYWAY, so I was thinking, you know what I want? My dreams back. Because I think they would be great and just a little added chance for awesomeness. I mean, I like to multitask.

So I went online to look for ways to make this happen. What, the internet can make ANYTHING happen.

(SIDE NOTE. You know how Google starts to autofill things when you start typing in questions? Some random autofills I found recently? “How to have twins” [um…genetics? Prayer? Luck?]; “How to insert a tampon” [this one made me utterly despair for the youth of America – there are INSTRUCTIONS inside the BOX of TAMPONS, come ON!]; “How to jumpstart a car” [hi, future thief, welcome to the internet!]; and “How to make moonshine” [YEE HAW!] Also, everyone seems to want to make something called a “fishtail braid.” I didn’t know what that was, so I looked it up.

Apparently it’s this, which is some sort of fashion craze:

Pretty enough, I guess. I can’t do braids. I have slippery hair. It just SLIIIDES out of braids and then goes back to being unruly. It’s all WILD HORSES CAN’T BE TAMED, my hair. I’ve stopped despairing, what’s the point.)

So, back to the dreaming conundrum. I looked up “why don’t I dream” and this poorly-designed site tells me that:

Would you please tell me why people do not dream?

Everybody dreams! This is a scientifically proven fact. Research has shown that all human beings in a study exhibit brain activity during their sleep. Just because you cannot remember your dreams does not mean that you do not dream. So why is it that some people don’t remember their dream? This may be attributed to alcohol consumption, certain antibiotics, fever, lack of sleep or too much sleep, high levels of stress, and/or unconscious fears about the content of your dreams. Some researchers believe that certain people have a genetic dispositions to forget their dreams as they come out of their sleep.

A ROBOT WROTE THIS THERE ARE NO CONTRACTIONS IN IT AT ALL IT IS ALARMING BEEP BEEP BOOP

Well, hell, I am all kinds of strikes against me if this is true. Lack of sleep – CHECK. High levels of stress – CHECK. Genetics all wonky – CHECK. Drinking – eh, haven’t been lately, only because I had to stop because of the antibiotics I was on, then didn’t start again yet. I don’t think I have a fever. If I did, I know the cure is more cowbell, so I could clear that right up. I don’t know if I’m afraid of the content of my dreams. As stated, I’m sure they would be AWESOME. One time, I dreamed the boy I was in love with all through school showed up at my house and we…um…wooed. There was wooing. That was a nice dream. MORE WOOING PLEASE. (In case you’re wondering, wooing is a euphemism. For boning.)

So apparently there’s not much I can do to get back the dreams. My dreamer is broken. I suppose I could take acid or some such foolishness but I don’t believe in that. You know I’d end up all weird like Jim Morrison or something. Have I mentioned my irrational hatred of all things Jim Morrison? I HATE JIM MORRISON. So, so much. I don’t understand why everyone lionizes him. At all. You can enlighten me, if you want. I think he was a burnout, and I don’t think The Doors were all that good. Also, his poetry was AWFUL. It read like a NIGHTMARE OF SUCK.

But then I found this link that was all, “How to lucid dream” and clicked it and THIS IS TOTALLY EXCITING.

So apparently, once you master this shit, you’re totally going to be like the people in Inception.

I don’t especially want to be like the people in Inception. I REALLY don’t want to be Leonardo DiCaprio. He has the weirdest head. He looks like a pissed-off Kewpie Doll. I just don’t get the appeal. BUT, I am hoping, once I master this, I will be able to lucid dream my way into Joseph Gordon-Levitt’s lucid dream, the one in which he’s wearing those kick-ass Inception suits. Yowza.

Also, I SWEAR one of my blogger people that I read talked about this. And I DOUBLE swear it was Andreas. But I can’t find it, even with a total stalky-stalk of his blog. ANDREAS. Did you cover lucid dreaming somewhere on your blog? If you did, I so apologize, and please link in the comments, I’m an asshole who doesn’t know how to use a search box, apparently. (Also, SIDE NOTE, you know what’s fun? Watching the evolution of a friendship through blog comments when you’re supposed to be looking for a link to someone’s lucid dreaming post. Because I found this old comment I made on one of Andreas’s old posts and it was like I was all FORMAL and STUFFY and TRYING TO BE A GROWNUP! Then you see the comments now and I’m totally comfortable and wearing sweatpants and hanging out on a beanbag chair because we are BONDED NOW, yo. So that was fun. I think we may have figured out why I don’t ever get to sleep on time. It’s because I CAN’T STICK TO A TASK.)

OK. Back to it. So. Lucid dreaming. Lucid dreaming is when you’re dreaming, but you KNOW you’re dreaming, so you can CONTROL your dream. Fun stuff, right? AMY, you’re wondering. HOW CAN I DO THIS?

Well! I am HERE TO TELL YOU.

I learned all about how to do this from WikiHow, because I learn good things from there. Like How to Flirt and How to be an Actress and How to Stop Thinking About Sex and How to Make Cheese out of Yogurt Also Known as YoCheese.

It’s a really long article. I’ll recap the important parts. I know you’re going to want to get to sleep and try this shit out. I’m saying shit a lot today, what’s up with that? I’m not even especially cranky.

  1. All day long, ask yourself, “Am I dreaming?” and pinch yourself. Then when you are sleeping, you will remember to ask yourself the SAME QUESTION! And apparently…um…give yourself a different answer!
  2. Keep a dream journal! According to WikiHow, this will “tell your mind you are SERIOUS about remembering your dreams!” Mine would be empty. I’d end up writing shopping lists in it. Or blog post ideas. It’d be the saddest dream journal ever.
  3. Research when is best to have a lucid dream. The article implies it is best to wake up, then take a nap a few hours later. Yeah, I think that’ll work out great. My boss will really enjoy me just crashing out around 9:15am. I’ll print out the WikiHow article, it’ll serve as a doctor’s note, right?
  4. Torture yourself. OK, the article didn’t say that, I did. But it said to set your alarm for four hours after you fall asleep, then wake up, write down what you were dreaming about in detail, then lie back down, repeating to yourself, “I will remember I am dreaming, I will remember I am dreaming” over and over. If I set my alarm for 4am, I’d be up at 4am. I’d never fall back to sleep. And if I repeated a stupid mantra like that I’d REALLY never get back to sleep. This is the worst.
  5. OH WAIT NO IT GETS WORSE. Then, THEN, it says to set your alarm for five hours after you fall asleep, make yourself stay awake for an hour concentrating on lucid dreaming and LUCID DREAMING ONLY, then fall back to sleep. LISTEN. Who has all this TIME for this shit? I’m lucky if I sleep 4-5 hours a night, lately. I don’t have time for effing with my alarm clock and talking to myself and nonsense like this. I just want to fly a magical dream pegasus. WHERE IS MY DREAM PEGASUS.
  6. Then it tells you to meditate for a while and that might make you lucid dream? This one’s confusing, let’s skip it.
  7. Ugh, this one is also about meditating. If you fall asleep while meditating, you might be doing it wrong.
  8. Write the letter “A” on your hand with a magic marker. Look at it ALL DAY LONG. It will remind you that you are awake! A FOR AWAKE! And then when you are asleep, you will look at your hand! And there will be NO A! And you will BAM! Realize you are DREAMING! Or maybe you’ll think, “No A. A for asleep” and then go right back to regular boring non-pegasus dreaming, I don’t know. Also, writing on your hand makes you look like a crazy. SIDE NOTE. I always have writing on my hands, do what you will with that information.
  9. ZOMG this one is the best so far, ready? OK, so WikiHow wants you to perform “reality checks” throughout the day, and then you’ll also do it in your dreams, eventually, and then realize you’re dreaming. Therefore calling the pegasuses. Pegasi? I don’t know. Here are some reality checks, according to WikiHow. (Also, please ignore the numbers in front of these, I can’t make them go away and WordPress is being a jerky jerk and it’s REALLY REALLY LATE AT NIGHT)
    • Looking in a mirror (your image will most often appear blurry or not appear at all in a dream). However, your figure can be horribly disfigured in a mirror, frightening you into nightmare or a dream; WTF THIS IS NIGHTMARISH
    •  Pinching your nose closed and trying to breathe; UGH NO THANKS
    •  Glancing at your hands, and asking yourself, “am I dreaming?” (when dreaming, you will most often see greater or fewer than five fingers on your hand); AAAHHHH
    •  Jumping in the air; you are usually able to fly during dreams YES PEGASUSES HERE I COME
    •  Poking yourself; when dreaming, your “flesh” might be more elastic than in real life; a common reality check is pushing your finger through the palm of your hand; WHY ARE YOU RUINING THIS FOR ME WIKIHOW
    •  Try leaning against a wall. In dreams, you will often fall through walls. STOP IT STOP IT RIGHT NOW
  10. Apparently you can prolong your lucid dreams by spinning around in your dreams (and maybe turning into butter?) or rubbing your hands (like Mr. Burns?) Odd.
  11. Look through your Dream Journal constantly. It will give you signs. Ooh! Will it tell me to swing away, Merrill? Will the aliens melt when touched by water, even though they came to a planet that is mostly water? Will asthma SAVE MY SON’S LIIIIIFFFEEE?

OK. These are not very good tips. None of them seem to make Joseph Gordon- Levitt appear in a suit, or pegasuses.

FINE. I’ll do it MYSELF. Stupid lucid dreams.

ZOMG. What is happening here WHAT IS HAPPENING. Unicorn! Pegasus! FIGHTING? And there's a wizard? Are they in the air? How did that unicorn get up there, unicorns can't fly. I'm getting this airbrushed on my panel van.

Aah. This makes it all better, right? Right.


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