make me a bird so i can fly far far away from here
In my dreams, I quite regularly attempt to fly away from danger. Literally fly–as in flapping my arms and soaring off the ground. My flapping movements usually incorporate some form of swim stroke, as if I’m escaping in a sea of atmosphere.
The problem is that I have had a really hard time taking off, and I rarely am able to move as quickly as needed to actually get away. How can I not be fast enough in my own dream? Shouldn’t my brain be dictating success?
Maybe I need to meditate on pixie dust and happy thoughts as I get ready for bed.
eurodream
I had a dream last night that I was offered two jobs:
One was as a personal assistant to a man who ran a cafe/restaurant situated on an intersection corner. The walls lining the two cross streets were made of floor-to-ceiling windows, and I sat at a table in the lobby, sun filling my senses. I worked with Miranda’s assistant Emily, who was surprisingly helpful in showing me around. We would be sharing a room behind the cafe/storefront, since the few employees boarded on site.
The other job was at a dark sculptor’s studio that reminded me eerily of the first job I held in FtC. As I was giving Steve a tour of my options in this European town with cobblestone streets, I couldn’t even get close to the building holding said studio for fear that an old coworker would step out, and I would be sucked into chains and paid just enough to put up with fearful and berating comments about overshadowing my supervisor.
When I woke up this morning, I made a commitment to one day only accept positions that would place me by a large window.
