Another morning. I got here at 5:04. It’s 5:09. We’re supposed to start at 5:00. I was the only one here. Another coworker showed up just now. He’s telling me about discovering GTA: V this past weekend. I told him about my trip to Bellingham and how I helped Madeline with her storyboarding homework.
On the way here I listened to What You Will Learn. The episode is a summary of a self help book called The Dip. It’s about when to quit or not to quit. Rewards are disproportionately allocated to the best, so it pays to be the best in something, even if it’s a really specific niche. The two ways people fail is either pushing toward the wrong niche and wasting time, or they give up after they’ve lost steam. The best are those who survive and find the right niche.
I was patting myself on the back this morning when I was the first one in this morning (not including that one foreman who shows up at 4:30am every day for no reason in particular.) But of course, it turns out we start at 6:00, not 5:00 today.
I started a lucid dreaming project. The plan is to begin writing down my dreams every morning and conduct “reality checks” during the day, so that I start doing the checks in dreams and hopefully become self aware while dreaming. My hope is that I can communicate with myself better.
We’re off to a strange start.:
My first two nights, I couldn’t remember my dreams.
Night three, I have a Freudian dream about women smuggling and teleporting small, jolly rancher sized items, through their vaginas. —not sure what that’s about.
Night four, I have a long dream about a long monologue, as if a voice is dictating something to me. And in my dream, I feel exasperated, trying to say, hey, there’s no way I’m going to remember any of this. Then, there’s a large teddy bear hamster, and I tickle him. He squeak-laughs, so I keep doing that. And it’s quite funny.
The day after that, I’m purchasing a ferry ticket for $200. The plan is to do photography with a high school friend from church. A bird calls me, and I call back to it. I have more dreams but don’t recall anything.
Last night I had a dream about two, giant, bright yellow, false morels leaking sweet white sap at their freshly plucked base. (False morels being a less-edible species of morels; the yellow part being total fantasy.) Next, I’m at a school house for either art of construction. I have cigarettes that I offer to share. To my surprise, a few people accept them. I light one up for myself, but I unintentionally take it inside. It actually smells like smoke, which is a first for a dream. I accidentally ruin two cigarettes with water.
Random thought while speaking with receptionist while checking into gym earlier today:
My bad breath is no longer merely bad breath. It is my breath, my voice, my essence, my pneuma, a product of body and soul.
This comes as a response to a self-conscious fear I had as a teenager. I was extremely self-conscious about my breath. If someone got in my bubble I would close off.
Side note: For some reason, as a teenager, my self-consciousness about my breath made the act of chewing minty feel as if it were preparation/invitation to kiss. I was afraid to kiss without it. (This was before I ever did any real kissing.)
Anyway, I’ll still brush my teeth. Vital essence or not, breath and soul require regular maintenance so they’re not offensive.
In the endless mass of chaos, The Center is the place where there is the possibility of an emergence of order