Thursday I dreamt about Gertie. I miss that kitty so much. I know she was on my mind because her daddy was going to visit her and I wished I could too. She's such a sweet cat. Oh Gertie.

Then, Friday night I had a dream about the Dog Day tour. We were supposed to be camping somewhere. As Nancy was picking out a great location for her tent, I realized I had nothing. No tent, no sleeping bag or blankets, nothing. KC also had nothing since he was counting on me to pack it. Nancy was PISSED. To flee her wrath, KC and I ran through the woods and discovered and old, run-down water-slide park. Other people in line for the slides told us about the park. I nobody even works there anymore. It's just abandoned, but people go there all the time. I went down a slide, fully clothed including a wool skirt. The slide was very narrow and when I went around turns, I thought I'd fly out the top. It seemed the slides were built in a time when humans were just smaller overall.

Last weekend, after partying too much for a few days, I took it easy Saturday night. I fell asleep on the couch watching SNL. I was blessed with an episode that had Scarlett Johannson and Bjork. I had wonderful dreams about Miss Scarlett. Not sexy dreams, just nice ones about hanging out with a girl I like. Usually my sexy dreams are just about me. I guess I really do love myself deep down. Intimacy dreams are frequent, but they aren't sexy. They include playing video games, snuggling on a couch, talking, laughing, and the occasional kiss. They also usually involve boys.

The truth is I just couldn't handle it anymore. It was a long time ago now, and it's not so much of a problem anymore, but I stopped writing here for a reason. I'd always wanted to keep a dream journal, and this was my favourite of any of the blogs I have or have had. But I was haunted in my sleep. Different situations, but the same face. I think I mentioned it a couple times here, and implied that it frightened me. I talked to KC about the dreams, and called them "nightmares." Except, I lied when I said I didn't recognize the dark figure, and what was scary was that it seemed so right. Inexplicably, it felt like home. So, I stopped writing my dreams. I stopped paying attention to them and eventually, I began to hardly remember them anymore. It was good for awhile. That is something my mother is not happy about. Truthfully, neither am I.