Word(s) of the Day: Sweet Dreams vs Terrifying Nightmares

While you read this, you should totally listen to Sweet Dreams by the Eurythmics or Beyonce, because those are the songs that have been playing in my head as I think about this post.

I am no psychologist, and I don’t pretend to know what dreams mean, yet, dreams fascinate me. Particularly, my own dreams. For as long as I can remember, I’ve had no issues recalling parts of dreams I’ve had; something, I have come to understand, is not exactly common. I wish I could say this was obviously the beginning of a modern day fantasy novel, but there might be some questions about my sanity.

So, what exactly is the definition of a dream? Or a nightmare?

  • Dreama succession of images, thoughts, or emotions passing through the mind during sleep.
  • Nightmarea terrifying dream in which the dreamer experiences feelings of helplessness, extreme anxiety, sorrow, etc.

Apparently, the difference here is the feeling we experience while dreaming – but what if you have a dream where you can obviously feel it’s horrifying, but it’s not a nightmare?

I’m guessing that’s where we delve into different types of dreams, like wet/sex dreams, dreams where you’re chased, etc, etc. Here’s some great info about dreams, as well as a link to a site where apparently you can keep a dream journal! Pretty cool!

Yet, my true question is: why do I remember so easily? Some of these dreams I’ve had, I don’t want to remember, and yet I can recall them incredibly well. It’s come to the point where I’ve neglected my own dream journal. (What’s the point of having a dream journal if you don’t use it? I don’t know.)

What kind of dreams you remember? Do you keep a dream journal? Do you enjoy dreaming?

How to Deal With Large Sums of Money

Last week, a family was very, very, very lucky. They managed to win the 550 million dollar pot (a 293 million dollar lump sum), so congratulations to them!

You know, a very good question came up last week, when my friends and I were discussing the lotto pot, since it was over a half billion dollars. Someone asked:

“What would you do with that much money?”

Kura (previously mentioned as my current guild leader in that nerdy game, World of Warcraft), replied with “That’s easy, I’d travel around the United States in an RV, visiting guildies! Then I’d start building my own home <with lots of things I don’t remember> and live there with Eric <commence weird, annoying cooing noises only a couple in love could make>.”

Make no mistake, I fully expect one day to see a RV pull into my driveway at some point and Kura stepping out. I don’t know how I’d deal with that, considering there’s only one person I’ve met in real life from the game, and that was Furry (see this poem) and that was a trip of a lifetime. At least, for me, because I’m shy, quiet, and generally prefer locking myself in my house. 

But it got me thinking: what would I do with that amount of money? I know several people, including Kura and my parents, said “DONATE TO CHARITY!”, which I totally understand. But… all that came to mind was the word “college”. I know how I’d spend a small percentage of that money and that would be the following:

  • Finish college; obtain degree in English
  • Become national best-selling author
  • Put money into savings’ account
  • Don’t touch said savings’ account until own children are going to college
  • Become parent(s) to Nobel Prize winning children

I know, I know, it sounds weird, but after coming from a single income household, where my dad makes enough money that it doesn’t quite warrant getting enough money from scholarships, you can see my logic. My father also thought it was a wonderful idea to spend some of the college tuition on a flat screen television. The italicized steps may or may not be perks of winning the lottery.

The rest of the money? Obviously give into the IRS and pay my taxes. Buy a new, eco-friendly, working car. Key word, working. Find a nice bit of property, purchase it, become a farmer. Yes. I wish to become an organic farmer. I will grow my own food and raise my own meat, it is a done deal.

Future husband, I hope you read this one day and realize how smart I am.

Alas, it is a dream that one day I’d win the lottery so that I can buy a car that has a heater.

A Secret Dream And A New Goal

Secret dream, secret dream, come true, come true, since I’ve told no one about you!

Okay, well, that little ditty is a lie now since I’m doing the opposite and am basically telling the whole internet about my “secret dream.” And depending on who you ask, some will tell you my dream is to become president, or a world-renowned chef, or the next Tolkien/Jordan/Martin-esque writer of the world.

It’s all a lie, like the cake and the secret cow levels! Okay, the writing one isn’t too far off, but it’s not a secret. I openly wave notebooks and sheets of papers with words on them to people and try to make them read what I wrote. “If you don’t read this poem, you’re a terrible person and I don’t want to be your friend anymore!” always works. I think, I wouldn’t know, I’m not that pushy!

Nope, my secret dream isn’t building a school and education system in that school that I feel should be implemented everywhere; it’s not drawing that comic book I’ve been planning (which is pretty cool, to be honest; I’ll have to talk about that sometime); it isn’t moving to Portland or to Hawaii; it isn’t wanting to get married to a great guy with a huge family and having six or seven kids to get into trouble all the time. Side note: Yes, I’d actually push six or seven or more kids out of my womanly parts if the universe be willing.

Nope, none of that is my secret dream. I’ll give you some hints. They all have something to do with it.

  • Masquerading as a man with a reason; my charade is the event of the season; and if I pretend to be a wise man, it surely means that I don’t know
  • Smoke on the water and fire in the sky
  • Hold the line; love isn’t always on time
  • She’ll promise heaven on earth; but don’t believe her
  • Shot through the heart; and you’re to blame; darling, you give love a bad name
  • I’ve got a black magic woman

Okay, okay, what do any of these song lyrics have to do with it (and if you couldn’t tell, Carry On My Wayward Son is one of my favorite songs)? Everything and nothing.

I’ve grown up to the sounds of many of these songs, most of the time I tried as hard as I could to not listen to this “old crap” my parents favored so much. Especially since my dad was always playing some song or another. Every once in a while, Sweet Home Alabama or Wanted Dead or Alive will come on the radio or my mp3, and I have to stop and think about why in the world someone else is singing my dad’s song. Then I place my palm on my face and say “Stupid, dad’s the one who’s been playing THEIR songs!”

My secret dream is that I want to beat on the drums or play the guitar someday in a band. Preferably to renditions of this “old crap” music that I hold so dearly to my heart nowadays. That would be amazing, and it’s songs like above that make me want to go bang on the drums. So to do something about it, I’m going to teach myself. I have a goal, and it’s gonna happen! Screw the universe, this is something I can actually do; my fertility rate may be crap, I don’t know. I’m not having kids at the moment.

(Also, should you be wondering why I’ve been posting so quickly this week, it’s because tomorrow, I leave for five days to go to camp. Just, ya know, if anyone cares!)