|Awww! How bad could THIS get?!|
Why is it that I think about the fact that I am having recurring dreams of being lost in airports - and of being on a crashing airplane - more than about what happens to me in my waking life?
The crashing airplane thing two nights ago was no worry, really. I had one crash a few years back and the dream just ended and it was all grey and my dreaming mind thought: oh, that didn't hurt at all and I am in control of my dream after all and so what that I died in this one, let's see if I can get a better one going.
Same thing with the out of control cars and the nudity. Really. If you just ACT like you have clothes on in your dream, no one else in your dream notices you are naked. It's YOUR dream. It's also why you can dance like a moron and look like a professional or breath underwater or fly. If the car is really out of control, let it crash and start over.
The breathing underwater thing I mastered as a kid. You just have to focus and relax. (Shame I haven't figured it out in the real world, yet!)
Flying took some more time. It's a matter of getting enough height and not letting the earth drag you down. (Look. I SEE the parallels! I just can't apply them, yet!)
So what about the two possums I missed crossing the road on the way to dance class a few nights ago? Wow is that sentence full of - dangling participles is it?
To clarify, I didn't miss the possums. I saw them both. I just didn't hit them with my car. The possums weren't on the way to dance class, I was. Although, why did the possums cross the road?
And what does it all mean?
Did I make it clear that the possums weren't a dream? No? I think I had better stop with the possums.
The best - and clearest - message I got from the universe came through the post this afternoon.
The Brisbane School of Long Distance Education sent back Ryan's artwork from last semester. Including the giant face mask made of recycled cardboard which we told them we never really needed to see again, thank you very much, feel free to save Australian taxpayers the postage.
My universe has a sense of humour. I spend three hours weeding out my facebook account of unwanted clutter. And it sends me trash. Marked "fragile."
Maybe I can use it the next time I am running late through an airport naked.