Just Pick One!

Sorry, a little bit of seriousness.

So many possibilities. To get to the point, life has an infinite amount of paths for us to pick and choose from, which is pretty much the end of someone like me who is probably the origination of "indecisive". I mean where it matters, believe me, I have an opinion, but when this good thing is just as good as the one sitting over there waiting for me to sign up, you do not want to be standing at my side expecting me to declare a winner any time soon.

Now here's where I feel like people will say I'm complaining about my having so many talents and options that other people would only dream about. To that I say, any man (or woman) can be in my very position if they have passion and motivation to do what it takes to get here. Plus, who are you to say I shouldn't complain and just choose something! It would be so much easier if there were fewer choices, then I would simply do what I knew how to do and that would be that. But when there are so many things I like to do (as it is for many people) and I don't want to give them up, I reach a standstill.

Here is what I tell myself when this happens.
Stop being a baby! Putting off a decision doesn't make it decide itself! In fact, when the outcomes mean the most to you, you tend to lose both instead of just the one. It's true, doing nothing will leave you with nothing. So the best thing you can do is just choose. Either way, good things will come to you and you'll simply have to appreciate those things you were able to experience in the end. You can't be afraid. You can't mourn the loss of what you don't have. Whatever it is, make it work for you.

Awesome_

The Delight of Family Improv

Just one more reason to adore this family.

Jenna and I, upon sitting and waiting in the van for various family members to return, who were looking at sedan-like vehicles in I.F., became bored. And began to improvise our own musical, one line at a time. We sang about being home alone and the neighbor's dog calling on the phone. The dog decided we should go on a walk together to find any individuals that would play with us. And something or other with the involvement of a horse. And possibly a golf course.
At this chronological point in the re-telling of this tale, Dad climbed back into the driver's seat and propelled us to another location at which we would acquire the rest of our rag-tag band! Oh did I not mention yet that we continued to deliver lines of lyrical beauty? Tied up in the angelic vision we had painted? Did I omit the normalcy of Dad instantly providing back up (the sort of thing those lucky altos always get to sing!) for us? Repeating words and phrases in echoes and downward runs?

Yeah, you can come sing with us any time you want. But remember, rhyme and randomosity are key.

Awesome_

Lists are Dead to Me

Fact: I make lists.
Not just shopping or chore lists. I also make lists of music I like, things I plan to be better at, songs I've written, things I plan to buy in my lifetime, places I've been, and I even have a continuous list of things I like in general. That one's a long list. Pages long. Even with columns.
And that list I just made? Just the beginning of all the things I list.

The history of lists tells us that they are used to keep people organized and help them get things done. And when I say "history" I really mean that this is common sense. You don't need me to tell you what they're for. If you don't already know, you're probably one of those guys that has never made a list.
Most people make mental lists of things to do or buy, especially when the list is short. But then there are people like me. Who write everything down, even if it's only two bullets long. I assume this problem of mine comes because I'm also a writer. I write everything down. If there's a pen in my hand, ink ends up everywhere. Usually on my palms. Where I list things I can't forget. Are you seeing a pattern here?
Listing things isn't actually all that different from note-taking. Think about all those history, science and math notes you take (or have taken). Chances are that the more organized and formatted those are, the easier it is for you to study and the better you do on assignments and tests. For some people, lists are an innate skill, but the rest of us learn it by necessity in school. So if you don't think you're very good at it, don't worry. You have years of school to practice and get better. I guess you could also assume that your interest in the subject matter and your final grade also affect how well you take notes and make lists.
So the real drive behind lists is how much you care about the subject matter. The more interesting you find it, the more likely your list will be detailed and probably included doodles and drawings to illustrate what you find most fascinating.

Now here's the problem that I faced while earning my undergraduate degree. So. Many. Lists. A college student has so many things to keep track of and his method of keeping up is usually different than everyone else's. I was a planner kid. Except that I never used the layout of my planner. I adapted it to my own way of thinking. This worked wonderfully for me. So wonderfully, in fact, that it created a problem.
Remember back there how we talked about mental lists? Suddenly, those no longer worked for me. And it wasn't even halfway. Meaning that if I didn't write anything down, I would forget every single thing I was supposed to do. Not most of the things, all of them. Don't ask me how, but my memory was hashed. Defective, if you'd like. I was able to equalize the problem over a summer break, but don't think these kinds of things can't happen. And don't think they can't resurface either.
So here I am, no more crazy homework/study schedule. Just working and jumproping like any normal 4-year degree holder. And I've encountered this problem once again. But worse. Now all my lists are quite short and very unique; however, when I grab my notebook and turn it to a clean college-ruled page, I forget all but the first bullet of my list before I finish writing the list title . . . I think my mind has settled on short-term memory-loss.

And the most curious bit of this? I wonder, what was the good of becoming an expert lister if I can't even get my lists written before I forget them? Oh irony, how vicious you can be.

Awesome_

Right Music, Wrong Lyrics

Let me tell you the story of a musical adventure. No literally, it was an adventure with musicals. And since many musicals are whimsical and fairy-tale-like, we shall storybook this story.

Ahem. Once upon a time in a magically crazy-weathered kingdom lived three sisters. Well actually, only two sisters lived there. The other one visited mostly on weekends. Nonetheless, these sisters were well-known throughout the land for their musical talents. They performed classical piano pieces, added beauty to any orchestral arrangement, and surprised all listeners with their stellar vocal talents. While they often shared these talents with the greatest amounts of seriousness, they had an especial procedure for using them when cozied up in their own home on its green hill rolling away in all directions.
One Thursday evening, a brilliant idea pounced upon the sisters before they knew it was to dance them away into a world of musical wonder . . . or, probably more accurately, of musical wrongness. The Wicked music book found itself in the hands of the sisters oldest and youngest, and a strange commotion rent the air as the two began a tragic slaughtering of the beautifully written melody Popular, though the lyrics stayed in tact.
It was monstrous! But it was oh so pleasing in its hilarity! And no mind, despite the grating in each ear, would miss the performance in its entirety.
And then, another idea crept close through the African prairie brush and grabbed hold of all three girls with deathly jaws.
Several musicals were pulled out of a black filing box and the fun commenced. The lyrics of My Fair Lady sung to the memorable phrases of Les Miserables. The Little Mermaid's Les Poisson sung passionately to Tangled's I See the Light. So many combinations of The Phantom of the Opera with all those already mentioned. The girls discovered exactly how long Masquerade was when they attempted three times to match its lyrics up with another musical's music. Finally a suitable pairing was made. With Part of Your World and Part of Your World (Reprised). Yes, it only worked if both songs were sung in succession. Another favorite was Past the Point of No Return lyrics with We are the Daughters of Triton. They also crafted a slightly altered rendition of Fathoms Below with the words of Tangled's Flower Incantation.
Somehow, those invited to hear these unique collaborations in close quarters were not able to grasp the beauty in its fullness. It seemed the performers themselves were the only ones with complete satisfaction. But it was enough to simply please themselves. After all, it was just a silliness they'd never share publicly anyway.

Do you think we were crazy to do this? If so, you would be correct. Although I'm sure there are plenty of Bowman-esque people out there who would immediately do this same thing. The best part of this was the phrase match-ups and the heart-warming melodies boasting about cutting off fishes heads . . . I mean, yes there were some strange meet ups, but it made the adventure fantastic!
From pondering these moments, I have come to a few conclusions about the writing of music in general. First, and most importantly, some lyrics when heard with melodies of opposing emotion sound really freaking creepy and wrong! Or just too silly to ever be used in front of people. The rhymes become forced and childish, the rhythms thrown together. So I guess you could say that any and every song ever written is ridiculous. Any of them can be mocked, which brings me to my second point. Musicians are fantastic mythical beasts! (Credit for that description goes to Rhett and Link.) They bring life to their lyrics through so many varying melodies, and their music overwhelms listeners with its expression of emotion whether the words are there or not.
Short story made shorter: give musicians some credit and support them if you especially like them. And also, think about this. Every new song for them is another risk, exposing themselves for criticism and ridicule. Yeah, I'd say musicians are pretty tough kids.

So go to a concert or go buy a CD or something.
Oh. And they all lived happily ever after.

Awesome_

I Don't Sound Like a Ringwraith. Anymore.

(the set-up)
Once upon a time, I left cold and snowy Rexburg at the beginning of April to visit the pleasantly temperate Las Vegas with my jump rope team. Sin City over General Conference weekend, oh the irony.

(the irony)
Oh you want the real irony? I caught a cold.
Actually, half of our dozen got sick. All with something different. Or mostly different. Some with migraines, some with colds, one with an ear infection, and two throwing up for no reason. Yeah, and we still had 2 days, 6 assemblies, and 2 workshops to get through. Let alone the travel time to St. George and Mesquite, and the 8-hour drive home.
Side note: this should tell you how much we freaking love jump rope. Seriously.

(the point)
As Stephanie, I have never lost my voice. I came close at the age of twelve. I tried my hardest to succeed at the age of fourteen. I still failed. Well, fast forward to our Vegas trip.
I lost my voice the second day of being sick. And not just halfway either. No, I'm talking full on Grudge imitation. A Brother Severn sound-alike (for those in the Eastern Idaho area). A squawking, out-of-tune creature you couldn't help chuckling at (in your defense, neither could I). I also could barely hear anyone I tried to have a normally-distanced conversation with.
But still I jumped, I yelled counting for routines–I swear I'm the only one that can yell loudly, so I count everything–I sometimes breathed, and I also taught elementary school kids to jump rope for several hours. It was an amazing feat, even though more often than not I'd have to clear my throat to get anything audible to come out. And I was continuously asking nine-year-olds to repeat themselves.
I tried to sing during the car ride home. I couldn't carry a tune. Simple intervals were slaughtered in excruciating, cruel, unusual ways. Poor music. Now I know how the tone-deaf feel. They are stronger people than I am, being able to live without singing.
My only comfort was thinking, "This won't last long, right? Colds only last about seven days, so I'll be fine soon . . ."

(the twist)
WRONG!
3 weeks! I am in no way even exaggerating! Hacking cough, unable to communicate with the world, telling people to speak up.
For 21 days.
504 hours.
30,240 minutes.
1, 814, 400 seconds.
That's an unbelievable time span to not sing in. It was so agonizing! Listening to the beautiful choir in church, and even the congregation. Hearing a favorite song on the radio (the volume twice as high as normal) and banned from the belting of its words. And if the loss of song wasn't heartbreaking enough, I had no recollection of my voice. It seemed these laughable rasps were all I'd ever had. It became a habit to ask if I still sounded sick because, for all I knew, this was the loverly voice I'd developed through my years of living. Of course, when people would answer, I'd yell at them, "What? I can't hear you! You have to talk to me like I'm an old person!" (No insult intended to the elderly here.)

(the speculation)
Something I found interesting was supplied by teammate Nieka. She described a beautiful concept where there's actually a correct manner in which to yell. A procedure to follow so that, no matter the hollering time or distance, the gravel will stay out of your throat. Her suggestion was that I had this ability innately (though it could be taught), which explains my failures earlier in life (not all failures, just the voice-losing ones). So this sporadic, unpredictable cough did something to throw of the natural balance of my voice box.
But who knows how? My family, my teammates, my friends, myself, we are completely mystified. Was it really a cold I had, or was it mono? Possibly the parasitic invasion of an alien compound? Such extreme effects surely cannot be dismissed and discounted. And to simply fade away in a day or two?

It's an outrageous accusation to call this the common cold.

Awesome_

Adding Photographic Excitement

At one point a long time ago I was going to add some pictures to our blog and tell you a fun story about a ski hill and people from different countries and falling in the snow. But it was frustrating and took too much effort to get all the photos in the right order and then I didn't want to write about them anymore. So .... here are some pictures.

_Loverly

I Forgot to Put a Title On

Hello World!!

I would just like to start off by stating that, yes, I am alive. The past few months have been exciting ones wherein I have honed my awesome Adobe skills to create some truly awesome material for Madison Memorial Hospital.

As the weeks fly by, the end of my internship looms in sight which is exciting, stressful, and bittersweet. I remembered finally that on the last day of my internship I have to turn in a 5-page paper (which I have not started writing) based on the book The Elements of Journalism (which I did start reading last week, but only passed page 20 this afternoon) and how it relates to my education experience.

And do you know what I discovered during the 50-or-so pages I read today? Orson Scott Card can predict the future.

Ok, maybe not in reality. He writes science fiction novels which are typically based in worlds and societies that do not actually exist. But as I read about the purposes of journalism and how it is changing and where it is seen in today's world, I realized that Mr. Card could see in 1985 how the internet would change the way we communicate. The storyline following Peter and Valentine is usually not my favorite. But that is where you find adults all around the world taking notice of and listening to two children, who have assumed fake identities of much older much more educated individuals, giving opinions and suggestions on international relations.

That really summarizes a lot of what the world is like today.

1. You never really know who you are talking to on the internet. They can claim to be anyone they want.

2.Citizens all around the world are using the internet's tools such as blogs, youtube, facebook, etc. to share their opinions and stories and somewhat assuming the role of what was once thought to be a journalist.

Ok, so it summarizes two points of life in 2011.

Anyway, in conclusion I want to read Ender's Game again because it gives me hope that if an 8 year old boy can save the world, I can do whatever I want.

_Loverly

The Month of Musical Frenzy

For those unlucky people who don't know (which included me until the first day of February in the two-thousand-and-eleventh year of our Lord), it is the last day of February Album Writing Month. Or FAWM, as FAWM-ers affectionately call it. Defined as 28 days of scrambling to compose 14 songs–an album. I've never done this (obviously), but I was determined to make it through my very first one flawlessly. I mean really. Only 14 songs. In a luxurious 28 days. Couldn't be easier.

Lies! I started out very strong with 3 songs finished in my first week (One Juliet, Harder Things, and Where Did Summer Go?), but after that, Failure took hold of the rudder. And stole my gum, too. Forcing lyrical inspiration is so hard. Poetic inspiration, not a problem for me, so you'd think lyrically I'd be capable. Apparently not. My five-stringed guitar and I had it rough. Not even a piano could ease the difficulty.

However, during this process, I learned quite a bit about myself. For attention-span reasons, I shall only mention three. First, when something is on my mind, it tends to be what all my songs are about. It's amazing because I don't repeat anything. The songs are only alike in theme, yet come from the same experiences and thoughts. Second, I write most of my songs late at night, right before I fall asleep. My explanation for this is that the more tired you get, the more honest you are with others or even just yourself. Why? Because frankly, you don't care what people think about you: all you want is a gosh darn pillow! Nothing else matters! And that comes out in songs as well. Third, the brutally honest i.e. scary songs are always my favorites. There's something in human nature that loves the revelation of truth, even while cringing upon its release.

So let's now conclude. I've only finished eight songs. I'm working on two others, but most likely one of those won't get finished for probably years or something vague like that. Basically, I fail, but not epically, which is distinctly different! So I'm only slightly bothered. My evaluation of the experience is this: hard, but awesome. For any musicians, this is a great way to mine out some creativity from your coal-filled subconscious. And even if you don't classify yourself as a musician, it can still be fun. You don't have to write the music if you don't feel so inclined, or you can just skip over lyrics completely if they've offended you. Do what you want with it! The challenge of a deadline is great drive for growth. Just look what school's done to you. But if you like music more than school, FAWM is a much better choice.

For those who'd like to check it out and/or participate next year, visit: www.fawm.org

In parting, I will offer only a brief farewell–I still have 16 hours of songwriting left! Can't waste time!

Awesome_

Achem: Foreigners on Board

Oh hello, fellow Bowman-lovers! Well, get this: I'm the newest Whatever-You-Call-It on this blog. So . . . you're welcome.
As my first major deal, I would like you to ponder your own Bowman-esque qualities. If you don't know what such people encompass, do not fret. We gotcha covered. You may be a Bowman if you experience frequently any of the following urges:

• To spout sarcastic comments
• To quote movies
• To burst randomly into song
• To be shorter than the average not-Bowman (or if you actually ARE, even if the urge is not present)

 So. See if you measure up. If so, perhaps we'll socialize.
Well then. If you find yourself exhibiting any of these fabulous symptoms, congrats. Duh. Ummm,  k bye. Whatever. [insert smiley face here]

\The Brit Kid

Water Party! In the Basement . . .

Well, I guess it all started when I heard a waterfall. Being in a house, in the middle of frozen Idaho, I figured this was the first of the bad signs. I'm pretty sure it's not a common occurrence to hear waterfall-like noises coming from your basement. My first thought was that maybe someone had started doing laundry (an annoying thought when you've been waiting for hot water so you can take a hot shower). And here, the exploration began.

I traipsed down the stairs (of which there are thirteen, and maybe I'm the only one that finds that odd) and it was freezing. Like super chilly. Of course, for the past few days it's been 20 below 0, so it was a little expected. I still wanted to fix it. This is the part where I was supposed to start a fire in the fireplace that would then warm the whole house cozily, and we'd live happily ever after in our little heat-oasis.
No such luck.
Down the long hallway, I heard my very loud waterfall. Way too loud to be the washer going. So I crept into the shadow's shadows back to the last rooms: mine and the laundry's. As soon as I turned on a light, I pretty much knew there was trouble. Kinda hard not to know when the yellow linoleum has a lovely layer of arctic water and dead leaves.
I still have no idea how there were dead leaves in the basement when this house was built like 20 years ago.
Little-known fact about this house: there is one more room at the end of the basement hallway. It was supposed to become a bathroom (well, still is), but it's hidden very well by our fantastic camping storage and a board covering its doorway. Long story short, I knew where to look for my super-soaking culprit. But first, I grabbed my little sister and a bunch of towels to stop the water from spreading anymore–it was already getting well into the carpet. As soon as that was covered, I moved the board . . . and found an old plastic-covered mattress blocking the doorway. I'm still not sure why the mattress was in that particular location.
Nonetheless, we got the mattress out of the way quite efficiently i.e. Tori accidentally knocked it over. And we still could not see what the problem was. Something to do with the room being uninsulated and also not possessing any electrical lighting or the like. With that problem, we found another. The water was spreading more quickly. And in fact, it was infecting more and more rooms.

So operation Move-Anything-That-Could-Get-Water-Damage-into-the-Family-Room went into effect. I piled clothes and papers and other random things a Stephanie has (water gun, Disney mugs, 5 miles of notebooks) onto my bed. Then, it was move the furniture time. I completely unloaded my bookshelf and carried it out on my own. Tori helped me grab drawers from my dresser before I Hulked it away to safety. Lastly, we spirited away my desk and other important valuables pertaining unto that object (printer, book made into a clock).
By that time, Dad made it home to solve our plumbing problems. Well, not all of them, but definitely more than we could solve ourselves. I was very impressed that we were able to work so quickly and get so many things out that could have been destroyed. I mean, I did drop a couple books (Nooooo!!) but they were virtually unharmed. Dad got the water turned off, assessing the damage and whatnot, and took care of getting an actual bona fide plumber to solve our Mystery of the Mistaken Waterfall. Apparently, since it's been so cold and that room wasn't insulated, the pipes in there froze and broke.
Go Team Idaho.

You know what the worst part of this whole dilemma was? (Well not really the worst, I just say that for exaggerational purposes.) No running water. Meaning no shower. Also couldn't use the bathroom. Or brush my teeth.
So I improvised. With snow.
Okay, obviously I didn't bathe or use the bathroom, but it worked quite well for washing my face and brushing my teeth. I've never had a morning so refreshing. It made the idea of winter camping seem delightful.

Well, the good news is we do have running water again! Which is good. It would've been awkward to tell our neighbors we had the luxury of wireless internet but could we please use their restroom? So for the time being, while those darn back rooms air out, my belongings will occupy the Family Room much like any army could probably occupy France (nothing against the French, love their language and croissants and everything, it's just that the past seems to speak for itself).
And I? I am a man with no home. And by that I mean a girl with no bedroom. The meaning is equivalent.

Awesome_

Foot Thoughts

If Dr. Seuss can have a "Foot Book," (The first book I learned how to read, by the way) then I can have a moment wherein I share with you my thoughts about feet.

First off feet are pretty cool. I have known my fair share of people who detest feet. Think they are disgusting. Can't stand the sight of them, especially in close proximity. I never have understood this.

True, there are some feet that smell. But don't condemn all feet just because of the strongly stinky few. On the whole feet are pretty amazing. If you didn't have feet it would be quite a struggle to balance, stand up, or walk on those little stubbs. Plus the flexibility in your feet which allows you to stand up on your toes for a few precarious moments also lends the added feature of rendering you temporarily taller - which comes in quite useful for us short Bowmans.

Plus, have you ever noticed how dancers, good dancers, use their whole body in each movement. Every bit of them from the head through the fingertips to the toes are committed to the movement and transformed by it. Can you imagine watching a ballet where the ballerina had no toes to point? One of the iconic features of a ballerina is her distinctive toe shoes. Which brings me to another point. I cannot even begin to count the number of people who are obsessed with shoes. It is somewhat of a guilty pleasure for them. And they have closets full of shoes. Now to all of you shoe lovers - What would you do with all your precious shoes if you had no feet?

That's right. Now you can see the wondrous design of feet.

Now the real point of this was that I was going to tell a short little story, which now, seems very anti-climatic. Oh well. I shall share it regardless.

In the summertime I hardly ever keep shoes on for longer than it takes to walk from whatever building I am in to the car or visa versa. And sometimes not even that long as I simply carry them with me. This tends to result in a bit of confusion for my feet. You see, my older sister explained it to me one day. Feet are used to being covered and they adjust their own temperature accordingly throughout the day. So during the daytime hours when normal people are wearing shoes - their feet are naturally a little bit cooler to accommodate for the wearing of socks and tie-up shoes. Then in the evening or at night when it is time to be at home or go to bed, the shoes come off and the body has to work a little harder to warm them up on its own. A wonderful invention -right? Well, then you have people like me, and Kimi as she told me this theory from her own experience. I hardly wear shoes during the day and if I do they are most certainly some sort of sandal that can be easily removed in no longer than 15 seconds. But what this does is confuse your natural foot temperature system and at night when you still don't have shoes on it goes into crazy and over heats my feet to the point that I can't sleep because my feet are so ridiculously warm. The only solution I have come up with is to run my feet under cold water for a couple of minutes and then go back to bed. Kimi said maybe I should wear shoes more often, but of course we know she wasn't serious.

Now last night I had a stroke of brilliance which now looking back I can't understand why I never thought of this before in my life. In the wintertime when everything else in the world gets icy cold, my feet do the same thing. And just like the nights when my feet are boiling - I can't sleep due to the iciness of my footsies. So last night, because I didn't want to take a full shower, I thought, "why don't I just run my feet under warm water until they heat up?" And I did. And it was fabulous.

And that's what I think about feet. Well, for today at least.

_Loverly

There's Been a Run of Crazy Dreams

Is it just me, or is it that when anyone has a strange dream it comes in a neat little group of other strange dreams?
This has been my week. Lots of people (I hear) have dreams about dying every once in a while, but this has never happened to me. Until now. Okay, I haven't actually died in any of my dreams, but those of late have all been near-death.

Dream One: I am working in a local hospital that just happens to be in the middle of the African jungle. And I am sent on a quest with two people who apparently are my siblings (trust me, neither was a relative that actually exists) to save the life of this sick orphan child staying in the ICU. And may I just note, the one time I saw the baby boy in my dream, he was smiling and giggling and running around the hallways. So off on this quest we go. How? A 12-person raft down a treacherous river. Literally feet from the hospital walls. So there we are, none of us know anything about wilderness survival. We all sit nervously in the old raft, just letting it follow its own course. Until it tries to turn us down a side stream with crocodiles infesting the water. Oh boy, did we get out of there fast! Two more times after this the raft tries to turn down side streams with deadly jungle animals ready to rip bones from flesh. We are so relieved to escape these that we miss the next one . . . and we end up in this deep, dirty water crawling lazily along. Then they attack. The hippopotamus's converge on our raft, knocking against it hard and lifting it almost on its end. Somehow I end up halfway out of the raft, up in the air, trying to keep my feet out of one terrifyingly brown mouth. And then they tip us. I can feel the water swirling around me. I'm afraid a hippo is going to brush against me and it'll all be over. Of course, if I escaped their flat, crushing teeth, I still had to escape to the surface for air. And I'm almost out of air (I lasted a lot longer than I thought I could) when some random jungle-master Aussie saves us. As he appoints himself head of our quest,
I wake up.
So yes, strange dream. I think the strangest of them all. And now I don't know which would be more terrifying: facing a herd of hippos or facing a very hungry shark.

Dream Two: I'm in the middle of some random elementary school I don't recognize (which is saying something because I've been to dozens of elementary schools) and I'm just running around after school's out. I guess as a teacher's aid or something I can do that. I run to the pool (because of course all elementary schools have large swimming pools with water slides and diving boards) and randomly decide to take the slide–not realizing I'll end up in the water. Hmm, apparently I'm brainless in this dream. Splash! I land in the water and get sucked under the side. I'm stuck. My littler sister is standing at the edge of the pool, back to me, ignoring my thrashing and gurgling because she warned me not to use the slide. Pay back. Eventually some teacher comes by and tries to hop in a small canoe and save me, but by then I've figured out how to "climb" the hard tile I'm caught under and I get out.
Not quite as strange. But still strange.

Dream Three: I'm driving to work and there's this random bridge/overpass that swings out over an open bay then comes back inland. The construction of the road? Pretty much nonexistent. The curve I'm supposed to navigate over smoothly is literally a system of long thin bars spaced at least 20 feet apart. And did I mention there are no side rails of any kind? As you might guess, I drive my car off the bridge and plunge into the water. But I don't freak out. Oh no, apparently I've driven off a bridge by mistake before, so all I'm thinking about is getting out quickly and how much I'll be mocked when everyone finds out it happened again. Freeing myself was fairly easy and, at the surface, this group of training marines pulls me out of the water into their little dinky raft. Several of them are brothers, so they take me to their dad so I can get some help. Outside this gasoline stained gas station I watch his 10-year-old daughter (with her pink jumpdrive-sized cell phone) playing in the oil shines while he treats me like a homeless person he really wants to help. He tries to give me some money, but every time I refuse to take it, he tries to give me even more. He ends up forcing me to take 13,000 dollars and the deed to all their family property along with making me promise to take care of dear Gran if they all end up dead. Then his daughter lets me make a quick call on her freakishly small phone. La Fin.
Ummmmmmm, I'm still very confused.

I think dreams can be really cool, even when they're extremely absurd. I'm a fan of thinking dreams are your subconscious's way of communicating with your conscious about what's going on inside your own brain with your own problems. How these three dreams solve my current problems, I have no idea. But they were fun to share!
Anyone have dreams to rival mine? I'd like to see how crazy all of us really are.

Awesome_