So apparently this is mostly going to be a blog about my outlandish, freaky dreams.
I do remember most of my dreams. I know some folk don't, so I consider myself lucky.
Considering what I remember.... twisted, yes, but also lucky.
Dreams are great, they can be like movies but like movies they often suffer from poor characterisation, plot holes and they suck. Or they're nightmares - the worst kind are the ones that aren't full blown nightmares but still kind of dreams, that you can't wake from.
I still like the fact that I can remember most of my dreams. Yes, it makes me feel special, but also I get to wonder what's up with my subconscious that I think up these messed up scenarios.
I've always liked cars. I grew up wanting a magenta Jaguar because I liked cats and my Barbie had some sweet wheels. All my life I have wanted to literally own a monster truck. Yet, I'm happy with my small car. Fuel is (relatively) cheap, parking is a breeze, it's surprisingly roomy and zippier than people like to admit. Also, I don't have to help people move houses or watch my roof when I go into car parks.
That said, my husband recently upped his sedan for a 4wd ute and I love it. It's probably as close as I'll ever get to being a monster truck driver and it's got fun new features that my car (obviously) doesn't have. I don't know if it's because it's so big or so new, or not "really" my car but if we were going somewhere like the city or a shopping centre, I prefer to take my car.
I feel like my car is literally an extension of my body, much like an exquisite weapon of some kind and also part of my soul, like being an Evangelion pilot but with slightly less insane emotional angst and existential crisis's. ....just slightly less.
