“Every so often we love to steal to the land of what might have been but that doesn’t soften the ache we feel when reality sets back in.”

I don’t typically remember my dreams, but for some reason lately they’ve been incredibly vivid. Not necessarily bad dreams, not necessarily good ones. Those dreams where people you haven’t thought of in months or even years just appear. And of course my favorite- the shape shifting dreams, where the person begins as one person, then by the end of the dream it’s someone else. Sunday I saw someone that I haven’t seen in a couple of years. It was someone that I used to care incredibly deeply for. And while I stood there talking to him, I realized that the level of comfort that used to be there, still was. While I knew nothing of his life, it still felt normal around him. Odd. He’s been in my dreams all week since then. I think sometimes that he’ll always be in the back of my mind until I meet whoever it is that I’m supposed to be with. Not that I still have feelings for him, I think it’s just that he was the first person I ever truly loved and I guess some of that sticks with you no matter how long it’s been.

I’ve been trying to find something worthy to talk about for a couple days now. Yesterday I started writing about how strange I found it that my flip flops were made with arches in them. Today, I could tell you about how Emily and I are going to see Harry Potter at midnight, or how I just can’t stop listening to Wicked. Or how I rented a convertible today for my vacation with Jenny and how strange and adult that feels. I could tell you about my inability as of late to stop buying random items of clothing or how hurt I am that my dad didn’t call for my birthday till nearly 10 and then asked if I’d been at my new job for a week yet- (it’s been 3). I could tell you how much I just absolutely love my little 10 year old sister and think she’s a blast to hang out with, or how one of my bosses likely broke her ankle a little while ago at work. Or I could tell you about my recent purchase of a bunch of filmstrips to make lampshades with, or the gift of a couple of antique typewriters for my birthday so I can make bracelets. I could tell you how I think my flowers that I planted outside my apartment don’t look so great and I think I’m watering them too much. I could tell you how my uncle joked this weekend I should write a book on my single years and I wondered how long it’d get before I could end it. I could tell you how I’ve been trying to figure out why I seem to find that I felt I was defined by the job I had even though I don’t think of others in the same way. I could tell you how much happier I am now that I’ve got this job but wish I had someone to go home and talk to about it each night. Maybe I’m just fickle like that- never completely satisfied, never completely content. Maybe that’s just what life is like. Or maybe that’s just me. I can't wait to see the ocean again.