Dreams are rather odd, aren’t they? They’re kind of like movies, but you take the leading role. Some of them are good, some of them are bad, and some of them are just plain weird. Last night I had the strangest dream. I went to Heathrow in order to pick someone up from the airport, and then we went to a museum. When we left the museum, there were now 3 of us, and we were in York, which is about 200-300 miles from Heathrow. Then I was in someone’s car, and they were driving back along the motorway to my house. Except, we just drove into a large sandstorm, and I climbed out the car, said I’d see them on monday, and left. I was walking around in the sandstorm feeling lost, when a girl in a turban and a yellow cardigan walked up to me. She introduced me to you (despite the fact that I don’t know her and do know you). Then the sandstorm cleared and we were all in the middle of what I can only assume was an american football field. And then I woke up. 

I don’t normally remember my dreams that vividly. But a lot of them seem to involve driving, at least of the ones I can remember. The idea of dreaming is strange. We spend hours of our lives watching these pictures our brains make up for us, with most of them having no bearing on our actual lives. Brains are weird. Like really weird. 


PS: Advance notice; next week’s post will be late. I am going to climb Sugar Loaf with school, and will not be back until Sunday evening. Hopefully I will have quite a lot to talk about, what with hiking and all, but no computer + no internet = no post. 


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