Tag Archives: creative writer

Weird Dream

I had the strangest dream the other morning.


I was asleep in a house with my entire family. They were in the living room together. I was down the hall in my room, half asleep. This was our home, had all our stuff in it, and only our family lived there.

Lebron James walks out of the room next to mine and goes into the living room, dripping annoyance as he says, “If Daphne doesn’t wake up soon, we’re not going to be able to watch the movies.”


Weirdest dream ever.


I dream about people eviscerating other people; creatures chasing vulnerable people and attacking with sledge hammers and foot long, thick fangs; falling in love with (very attractive, human looking) aliens; the world ending with just me and my dog left; falling, hitting the ground, and flying.

I wake up and think woohoo! Great story ideas, hurry up and write this down.

But that?

Definitely my oddest dream thus far.

I don’t even watch basketball.

I don’t know anything about Lebron James except that he plays the game!


Since I started taking medication for depression and anxiety I’ve been dreaming. A lot. I didn’t used to dream except now and again. They started out really uncomfortable bad dreams, but now they’re great for my creative writing self!


Had any strange dreams lately?




Filed under Stream of Consciousness

Personal Neglect (and the Writer)

Do you ever get tired?

Tired of non-stop to-do lists on paper and playing over and over again in your head. Constantly on the move. And when you are home and have some time, you’re using it to do something else you’re responsible for or have become responsible for or feel you’re responsible for doing right this very moment (usually the latter). Never a moment to sit and relax. And I mean fully relax. As in, not thinking/worrying about something you could be doing, should be doing, need to be doing, etc. instead of sitting down and breathing.

I do.

I get exhausted.

I go and go and go and go until I start dragging my feet and feeling sick and start wondering, once again, why I’m not enjoying life.

I think I forget to breathe.

I forget I’m allowed to enjoy life.


Getting one's ducks in order...

Getting one’s ducks in a row…


I feel like I should have some obligations to myself too.

I mean, it’s my life. I exist, right?

And not just to make others happy, help others with their business ventures, help others with their lives.

I matter, too, right? Following that train of thought, my life matters too.

So I believe actively deciding some responsibilities to myself is healthy, needed. And I think often times we forget this.

And not to nitpick or be sexist or whatever, but I believe women especially suffer themselves under this way of life.

Men go to work, come home, and have some down time. Even if they hang around with their children or take some time to help out around the house or spend time with their partner. Regardless, they know they worked hard and they deserve some down time, some time to relax.

I’m sure there are men that do this too (keep going, no down time), especially those who have taken on the “mothering” role or whatever. (I’m not big on labels or strict societal rules of “men – grrr, women – squeak”.)

But I feel like the more nurturing the person, the more compassionate and concerned with the affairs of others they are, the more likely they are to neglect themselves.

As if I have to validate my very existence by constantly doing something for someone else or actively working on something the world deems work. (As in, not writing.)

I’m allowed that time to relax. I work at work, I work from home, I help with my family, I have other obligations with time restraints. But dammit, after that, I deserve, have the right, to relax. To enjoy. To do something for fun. Something only for fun. To have an identity based on my own self rather than only the percentage of myself which does for others.


I’m not sure if I’ve shared this or not, but there’s a phrase I like.

You are a human being, not a human doing.

The point is, sometimes I can just breathe, and be.

Misery is optional.


Filed under Stream of Consciousness