I had a dream last night and in it this guy picked up his turtle and said "He has type III cuddle withdrawal. It's terminal". I woke up and said "same". Without sufficient access to cuddles I will perish.
So far as I remember appearing in my dreams have been William S. Burroughs, Mark E Smith, David Bowie, Peter Cushing, Robby Coltraine and unfortunately Donald Trump and Theresa May.
A great honor to have "When Carousels Dream" place third in the 5/17/2024 #FineArtAmerica contest "Circus" held by the Symbolism Group! Many thanks to group / contest administrator, June Walker, and to everyone who voted for my image. Congratulations to the other winners!!!
"Dreaming helps prioritize and diminish the severity of emotionally charged memories. Participants who reported dreaming had better recall and were less reactive to negative images.
The research suggests that dreams actively transform emotional responses by reducing next-day emotional reactivity. This could lead to interventions that enhance dreaming to aid emotional processing."
So something #funny happened last night. I mean, I'm one to think that dreams are symbolic of event and memories of the last day or so being rehashed as you sleep. I need the help of a dream interpreter on this one!
The spouse had a dream about Boris Karloff's... tentacles...
Pickled...
Received in a jar from Amazon.
What does it mean??
Edit: That was supposed to be /testicles./ Still funny and weird, tho.
This kind of thing gets me going. These sort of reversals of agency. Also, the idea that things get caused by dreams. There is something in me that wants to explore all these things that don’t fit the not modernity
It was warm out today, one of the first really warm days we’ve had this summer. I was walking up 14th St NW and noticed a vehicle in the bus lane.
“I think I’ll take the bus the rest of the way’, I thought.
I got into the vehicle and greeted the driver politely. The air conditioning was a great relief. I didn’t see a place to tap my Metro card but maybe the reader was broken.
“What the [EXPLETIVE DELETED] are you doing in my car?” The driver said, rudely.
“Oh!” I exclaimed. “I think you’re mistaken. See the red paint underneath us? This is a bus lane, so this must be the bus.”
Am I the only one who regularly fantasizes about this? It’s normal, right?