I Dream of Jabba

Okay, so I've been slacking on the blog. I've been slacking on just about everything lately, and it feels good. My loyal readers have requested a new posting, however, so I must oblige, however much I'd rather pull up a bowl of chocolate ice cream and reread the entire Harry Potter series.

Okay, so I've already reread the first book. What was I supposed to do? I finished the last installment in two days and, while quite satisfied with the resolution (no spoilers here...my two most loyal blog readers still need to read book 6), I felt a bit deflated to no longer have a new novel to look forward to. I went to the library, desperately searching for a bit of inventive fiction that would draw me in, but no such luck. So, August will probably find me diving once more into the wizard world, savoring Rowling's wonderful detail and searching for hidden clues predicting the ending.

That's not to say that my visit to the library was unfruitful. I have been reading all sorts of fascinating non-fiction, based manly in Biology. I'm in the middle of a book explaining how various wild animals survive the winter. (I'm looking for hints for myself, too, besides wearing three pairs of socks and stocking up on hot chocolate.) I checked out an interesting-looking book on the search for grizzlies in the Colorado Rockies, thinking I might like to join in.

I also recently finished a book on the strange phenomena of the mind which set me on a new path: I've started keeping a dream notebook. I began recording my dreams a few weeks ago, mainly out of curiosity. Writing any memories or images you have in your mind right after you wake up helps you to remember your dreams more clearly so that you can look for patterns and try to figure them out.

So far I've discovered that I dream very vividly almost every night, sometime remembering as many as six or seven different scenes. Occasionally, I will wake up feeling that I didn't really rest because my mind kept me busy all night. Sometimes I can tell exactly what real-life conversation, situation or daily event my dreams are reflecting. Some dreams, for example, have incorporated my recent free time spent reading. I dreamed that one of my sweet little kitties had bitten great big chunks out of the thick cover of my mom's library book. Another time I was in my college music class reading a book about animals when the professor came over and I covered the book and tried to distract him with the bald lie, "I love learning about the lives of composers. It's so interesting."

Often in my dreams I am confused or annoyed. Or both. People get in my way. Heavy doors don't have handles. Former coworkers or strangers try to get me to do their work. Signs or clocks are difficult to decipher. People get my name wrong.

Some dreams have nightmarish qualities of injured or dead pets, scary men, car chases and plane crashes. I try not to remember these dreams too clearly.

Mostly, though, my dreams are weird enough to make me think I'm more than just a little fizzy in the head.

I dreamed I drove my car into a Texas post office (the door was open and somehow wide enough) and the floor was covered in vomit. Piles of it, all over the place. When the postman came back from lunch he didn't seem to notice anything strange, but just said that there was no mail for me.

I dreamed Jabba the Hutt captured me, but I tricked him into being angry at one of his lackeys instead, who he proceeded to gobble in one gulp while I escaped.

I dreamed that people I knew a long, long time ago (but in this galaxy) were running up and down dorm room halls wearing as many Elizabethan collars as they could around their necks and waists. (Not lacy Shakespeare ones, but the stiff plastic cones you put on dogs to keep them from licking their sutures.) They put some on me, too, and I laughed for a minute but then sneakily stashed them in someone else's room.

I dreamed my main man was eating tortilla chips but running each one through a credit card scanner first because he said it made them taste better.

I can't even begin to explain that one.