Tuesday, February 24, 2009

The other night I dreamt I could fly. Somehow I had forgotten about the law of physics which allowed this, and how I was one of the very lucky select of the population whose bones were hollow enough (and arms were long enough) to make it possible. But I was damn good. I could start from a standstill, jump up into the air, swoop down till I almost brushed the ground, but then catch the wind and shoot up into the stratosphere, divebombing, swooping, corkscrewing -- I was a bit of a show off.

My favorite thing to do was jump off a cliff, bullet straight down until my eyes watered, then throw my arms out and scoop over the ground and back up, stomach doing calisthenics the whole time.

When I woke up, the dream had been so vivid I felt like I had just lived another mini-life overnight.

I haven't had a flying dream in years. When I used to have them when I was younger, I was always struggling, trying to go higher, but unable to manage my bodies weight, and always sinking uncontrollably.

This was nothing like that. I go in for a certain amount of dream interpretation, especially when they're so symbolically obvious as this. I'm going to take it as a sign I'm not fucking up too terribly.

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