An Ode to Accomplishment and, again, strange dreams.

Lately, with getting another year older (at least, I hope that's the reason), I've had innumerable flashbacks to my childhood. Things I hadn't thought of for years; memories that had lay dormant for so long I wasn't aware of their existence. And thinking back to the little girl I used to be, I realize how important it is for me to have the motivation and courage to do what I've always wanted to. It's not impossibly inaccessible; it would just take passion, effort, and a lot of committment (and really, doesn't marriage have those exact requirements, as well? And the marriage area here is amazing - I love, love being married). In another 23 years, and another 23 after that, I don't want to look back and still wonder what would've happened if I'd tried to pursue my dream. I have John, his love, and his support.

So here I am. I'll practice. I'm working up the courage. I'll give it my all. And we'll see what happens.

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Almost every night, I have ridiculously vivid, strangely violent, horrific dreams. Two nights ago, the first night back here in our apartment after our trip (and oh, I can hardly tell you how good our bed and pillows felt!), I dreamed:

I am having a normal off-work day, putzing around the house, when I feel something brushing my left elbow. I look down, and there it is, like a tiny transparent hot air balloon, tethered to the outside of my elbow. It has the look and consistency of a blister, but in an inverted teardrop-shape, waving gently in the breeze, and a bit bigger than my thumbnail. My arm itches, and I reach to scratch, but even as my fingernails graze my arm, my heart catches in my throat, and I stare, horrified, for along the three pink tracks my fingernails just brushed, sprout more miniature balloons. Starting out tiny, like the seed of a tomato, then growing rapidly, noticably, until they are all the size of the first. I panic, fear and horror welling in my throat, and as I turn to get help, I notice more of these tiny blister-balloons tethered to other parts of my body. If I bump into anything, more of these balloons appear; if something even lightly touches my body, they spring into existence.

I wake up with panic filling my throat and mind, and hold my left arm up close to my face so that my glasses-less eyes can inspect and, by the weak beams of the night-light, ensure that my arms aren't, actually, covered with miniature balloons.