The Fireworks and the Russian

I had a dream where I woke up wrapped in a cushy comforter outside and there were fireworks going off. There was also some large Russian guy keeping an eye on me. I don’t remember the rest of the dream, just that feeling of awe at seeing the fireworks while being warm and cozy. What the fireworks and Russian guy have to do with it is beyond me.

It doesn’t surprise me that I dream of sleep, I am good at it. One of my favorite things is lazing in bed wrapped in a soft, puffy comforter. I like to do this on weekends instead of jumping out of bed, these are the times I am most content. I think I picked it up from my cats as they are usually right there to join me after they have had their breakfast. I like to watch my cats sleep and wonder how they can get comfortable just about anywhere they lay down. Sometimes watching them makes me tired like they cast a sleep spell when they snooze.

Back to the dream, the Russian guy still has me confused. I only know he was Russian is because of his accent, but I don’t remember what he said. The fireworks were amazing, coming from all sides. It was like I was somewhere in the middle of three different places shooting them off.

The whole thing was like remembering a small part of some weird movie that you find during the day on TV, something that you only see bits and pieces of so you are never really able to put the story together, then you keep waiting for it to come back on so you can watch the whole thing but it never shows up again. So I am stuck wondering what happened, why I can only remember that one little segment, and who is the Russian guy?

Killing Time

So here I sit in the library, killing time before my next class, listening to the clickety clicks of the keyboards around me. A glance through the window sends my thoughts to spring and how I wish winter would end soon. There is an angry typist across from me, his fingers pounding the poor keys as if hitting them harder will make his point better known. Makes me curious about what he is typing. I snack on crackers carefully hidden in my bag as the library has a no food or drink policy, am I a rebel or what?

I enjoy libraries, one of the few places I can feel totally at ease in. I love that there can be a group of people all together and be quiet at the same time, can’t think of anywhere else public that happens except church and funerals, and I am not fond of those.

It is my opinion more people should take time to be quiet and listen to their thoughts once in awhile. I see too many people constantly plugged in to their electronic doohickeys. I like my mp3 player, but don’t use it every day. I don’t text because the spelling issue annoys the crap out of me.

In the end I guess that even though I am not old, sometimes I feel outdated.

The science teacher, basket, and hotel room

The science teacher walked in to the hotel with a large wicker basket in his arms. The basket was covered with a red tablecloth so no one could see inside. At the registration desk he gave his name and a credit card for a room. The hotel clerk eyed the basket with open curiosity, asking the science teacher if that was something special. The science teacher laughed and said that it was just a small project he was working on and nothing more. That made the clerk even more curious, but could not ask again as the science teacher had grabbed the room key and was off to the elevator.

My Dog

Samson is my dog. Not because I own him, I took him in for a friend, no money was given. He has been with me for almost 8 years and stayed by my side through the good and the bad, that is what makes him my dog.

When we go for a walk he reads my body language and knows when to run or when to stay close. We have a mutual appreciation and love for each other that has grown into an indestructible bond. He sometimes loves me a little less during his bath, and I sometimes love him a little less when he pukes on the bed.

We have consoled and kept each other company through the good and the bad. He accepted my husband happily into our little family, but our bond remains strong. I fear the day when I have to say goodbye, it will be very hard.

Samson is my dog, just as much as I am his human.

Lovely Pages

I love to read books. The smell of the pages, the sound they make when you turn to the next, the words that tickle my imagination. I love being transferred into other worlds, sometimes other dimensions. The story can be fast and furious or slow and drawn out, as long as it captures my imagination. A fun tale can ease the nerves after a long day when you disappear into it. Movies are great, but nothing can replace a book, and hopefully never will.


Good friends, good books and a sleepy conscience: this is the ideal life. - Mark Twain