Don't look back in anger

I don't think I've told you about my dog Sammy. He's a little slow.

Every now and then I bump something or say something to myself and he runs out the door barking at the noise I've made. Sometimes I will walk into another room and make a noise and he barks at me, I think because he thinks I'm an intruder. So I've taken to yelling, "It's only me!" after I make a sound. But I imagine that if you were outside of our house, patiently and quietly waiting, after awhile, you would hear some walking, me bumping into something, Sammy start barking, and me yelling "It's only me!" The thought that you might someday hear that is one of the only reasons I still do it.


Oh momma, is it really the end?

I've been to Europe and returned. I've been to West Covina and returned. More on both of these events later. While in Europe I kept a recorded by my side with the intention of transcribing it. I will do this soon, but haven't decided how I want to format it yet. Each entry as its own post here? Date and time divisions? Who knows, but I promise it's not important.

Two nights ago I had a dream that went something like this: while at my grandparents house (which was somehow in the high desert area of California) I glanced out their giant picture window and saw three mushroom clouds rising. I turned to my dad and said, "They've bombed LA, San Diego, and [forgotten detail]." They came to the window and watched as the San Diego shockwave raced towards us. I remember my thoughts went something like this: "I'm going to die. There is no way around this. I hope I was right about the whole God thing." I put up my hand as the shockwave came closer and just hoped that there was some way I could stop it. My POV changed and I was looking down at myself as the wave moved slightly around me and then engulfed me from behind. Right then, I woke up. Creepy feeling to wake up to.

I really enjoy dreams. Everything is so real and so emotional and not. It's so real that the experiences carry from sleep into the awake. I woke up feeling odd, but the feelings I had were from an experience that only took place in my head. The perception of fear was real to me. I love perceptions. All of life is dictated by how we perceive things but it seems to me that dreams indicate that perception is easily modified. How much can I trust my perception?

I'm reading a lot. While in Europe I read Kesey, Thompson, Bukowski, Moore, and Irving. I read more Moore upon getting back (who talks like this anymore?) and I'm going through Catcher in the Rye now. I think that's one book that I read every few years and can say that I really view myself differently each time I read it.

Peace to all.