On Dreaming

What’s possible?  Anything, really.  I just have to use my imagination.

I’ve stopped dreaming about the possible in my life.  Slowly but surely, I’ve retreated into my little cave of a house and I hide behind it, behind my family, behind my words here, even.  I write about my family, and I touch a tad on my illness.  I dodge around and sometimes hint at the hot topics that really tug at my heart every day.  I don’t write about the dreams I’ve set aside because of various traumas, though.  The thoughts don’t even form in my brain anymore.

My goal is to start dreaming again.  When I’m not so deep in my depression, it’s easier.  Right now, I’m pretty stable, so I can see a few things I’d like to have happen sometime in my life:

  • I’d love to have a BFF again.  My former one abandoned me because it was easier than carrying on long distance.  Guess she wasn’t really a BFF after all…
  • Someday, I’d like to complete an MFA, either in photography or creative writing.  I haven’t decided which yet.
  • I want to be a vendor in the arts and crafts at St. Simons on the Fourth of July someday.  That would be absolutely kick-a**.

Those dreams are enough for now.  More will come.

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