Reasons Why I Should Keep A Dream Journal.

I remember almost every single dream I have.  Sometimes, this happens, which is frustrating because by the time I get around to telling someone about my dream, I'm sputtering something about Hogwarts in Wisconsin. Many of my dreams, though, I remember in full detail.  Here are a couple examples.

Dream from two nights ago:

I was in the middle of planning my wedding between one of my good girlfriends and I. (She will remain nameless so I don't freak her out.  No, Carrie, it's not you.  There.  I saved you a text message).  So, I was marrying a girl, except it wasn't in a lesbian way.  We both simply wanted to become queen.  After the ceremony we would each be bestowed a crown, which I thought was pretty cool.  In the middle of an organized Zumba rehearsal between my parents, godparents, and friends (a dance that would be a part of the ceremony later), I realized that in a weeks time I was supposed to marry Nathan, too.  I also remembered that it would be weird for me to marry a girl.  I also remembered that some people might consider this a problem.
"Dad, are you okay with all of this?" I ask my father in the middle of Zumba.
He shrugs and says, "You told me this is what you wanted."
I leave Zumba, turn around, and start running through Pick N' Save to try and find Nathan to see if he would be okay with marrying me in a week, and if it would be weird to be married to two people at once.


Dream from last night:

My mom and I were at home, except for some reason it was raining inside.
"That's not rain," said my mom.  "The rocks are trying to get in."
Sure enough, as I held out my hand to feel the raindrops, little pebbles filled up my palm.  I looked out the window, which was covered with little pebbles banging up against it.  Some were slipping in through the cracks.
"We need to get out of here," and with that, my mom walks out the front door.  The whole house suddenly lurches and becomes tilty, as though the foundation had shifted.
I start running around the house grabbing things of importance.  The first thing I do is run to the safe downstairs which was luckily unlocked.  I look through the contents to try and find my parent's wedding album and grab it.  I run upstairs to my bedroom and grab two random books off of the shelf; I can't remember what they were.  I remember seeing Billy Collins laying there on the shelf and thinking, "No time for that!" and leaving it there.

I realize now that, much like when a car is underwater, I need to slowly open the window to release the pressure of the pebbles outside the window.  I slowly lift up the window, and little rocks come pouring into the house.  It is at that moment that I remember that my wedding dress is in the upstairs closet.  The rocks flood the house, but then stop when they are about knee-high.
My mom comes back in.
"Well, that wasn't so bad."
Now the only problem we have was to get rid of the squirrel that came into the house.  Luckily I lured him into a Tupperware bowl using some pecans.  While releasing him into the wild, I get bit.
"Well that's just great," my mom says.  "Now you have rabies.  Good work."