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Ever realise you have a lot of things to say and then, after you’ve waited a long enough time for the initial feeling of I MUST WRITE THIS DOWN NOW! to pass, you still would say those things…but you can’t think of any particular reason why?

It’s not that you don’t still have the same ideas or thoughts as you’d had…you just…don’t feel like they matter as much at the moment. Maybe another time will arrive where they will be more pertinent, but for now…… Meh.

I feel like that. I had a couple of things I was thinking over yesterday after I’d put up my post for the evening (of course), and I’d had two separate things that I thought I could go on about for a while…but…… Meh.
Doesn’t matter as much at the moment as it did when I was thinking about it yesterday.

On the other hand, I have another thing I’ve been thinking about this day, which is relatively harmless (in that it won’t bother anyone else, whereas the other two things I’d been thinking about might have done, since they are things that other people might have opinions and feelings about, whereas this one is just something for me to harmlessly obsess over) and which I feel like I could go on about for a little while…

So.
That book, right? I have been reading it over a second time, and there are parts of it where I am still astonished by, because they seem so much like the way I am on the inside as I go about my days and conversations. I keep wondering how this has been allowed to happen.
Like, I’ve encountered it before–who but a non-reading person hasn’t?–where an author will write in such a way that I see something in the characters, or in the story itself, that resembles me. But this is something different. I’m just having trouble explaining exactly what I mean…like…the tone, I guess. Maybe that’s what does it? But if that were so, it would feel that way in most of the stories, right? It doesn’t. Just in a few of them, where I read and am like, “omg…this is me“.

For this reason, Vastarien is possibly one of the best short stories I have ever read.

It is a poor recommendation, even though I tell myself that the reason to read books is to either enjoy them or to get something out of them, and I have been able to both in this case…I just don’t feel like this would be a common sentiment, since everyone is certainly not going to be me. (Here is a better explanation of why this story might have this affect on someone like myself.)

It strikes me as odd that I didn’t notice it the first time around, but the story itself is about reading a book that is not about something, but is itself that thing…I think I have found what I didn’t even know I was looking for (I knew).

It all comes back to two of my biggest obsessions…namely, the trying to articulate what is and isn’t me, and why my dream world, which lots of people describe as an expression of the sub-conscious, is so full of monsters and genuine weirdness that has little or nothing to do with anything going on in my waking life.

I think I used to be forced to describe myself by negation…I’m not this or that or I don’t like this or that or I’m nothing like this person or that group of people, but it wasn’t working very well. Gradually, I started looking for everything in media or in other people that I could describe as being “myself” because if I could find that someone else was like me, I could tell them, and we could have a better understanding of each other and a reason for association, since we were somehow alike. Or in media, I could point out the songs or the books or the movies that coincide with how I feel (not a particular whim of emotion, but what I feel like as a complete person), and hope that in hearing the sounds I hear or in reading the words or in even being in a place I love (of course I would not go out of my way to be in MI if it didn’t genuinely affect me), they could know something of me that is neigh on impossible to translate into words.

It’s an experiment, I guess. Not a very good one, since nobody knows this is what I’m trying to accomplish.
I always wonder if I could stand to try and divine that sort of information about someone else based on these same things…I’ve made some small efforts to do it, and I always feel like whatever it is others are choosing to express themselves is to alien to me for me to really understand what they mean by it. Maybe they don’t mean anything, and the things other people like are simply that: things they like, and not obscurely purposeful ways of expressing themselves.

I wonder about it a lot. But I still have hopes I am not the only one…now and then, someone I know will say or write something, and I know deep down that they are trying on some level to communicate the same things I wish I could.

All of this doesn’t really help my dream world…but those stories I was reading definitely make me think about it a lot.
I know I have talked about dreams a LOT more recently than ever I used to…but I think my reasons for this are twofold.

First, my dreams are amusing to tell about, and people seem to like hearing about them because they are so weird.
Second, in telling people what my dreams are like, maybe I will come across someone who dreams similar things.

I have a lot of dreams about work. Fine. Lots of people do. I have dreams about people I know. That’s fine, too. But then I have dreams about old, bearded men or a rotting Marilyn Manson trying to crucify me. Or about a black draft horse telling me he’s God and that to stop the zombie apocalypse, I have to infiltrate and stop a coven of evil witches, and then find the Tree of Life, whose leaves will heal the zombies. Or about standing guard at a portal during a multi-dimensional war, and killing a minotaur that the people of that dimension worshipped.

Who else dreams this sort of stuff? I can’t be the only one. Certainly not if I’m not the only one whose felt the way I do about trying to communicate myself, or about those stories I was reading. I just haven’t found anyone yet who’s admitted dreaming like that.

I’ve found people who feel the way I do about certain features of their dream worlds, primarily the settings.
It seems there is a level of mine and of others’ dreams where the settings will be unfamiliar to our waking lives, but those parts of the dream still feel like places we’ve been before, and even when we are in different kinds of these not-quite-familiar settings, they seem cohesive enough to convince us we are still in the same “world” if you will.
Like in my dreams that are not the super crazy ones…there is a warehouse-type store (think Sam’s Club or Cost Co) that I frequently find myself in. But there is also a countryside with little stone farmhouses, and a riverside town with restaurants and rolling horse farms. And a large, crowded campground at a music festival. Something about all these settings strikes me as similar enough that they must just inhabit different places in the same dream.

I know I am probably overthinking all this a great deal…but…it gives me something to do.

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