Stevie Nicks visited me in my dream last night. Again. It's kind of annoying, actually. I've considered contacting the authorities to report a stalker, but fear they'd take her word over mine. [Good call.]
I've had numerous dreams involving Stevie over the past few years. [Few? You call more than 30 "few?"] We're usually singing together and, I humbly confess, my vocal prowess is way better than hers. [Oh, look! A pink elephant is flying across the room! Whee!]
Which brings me to my point. [Seriously? It's that time of the decade?] What dreams do we have percolating within us that, no matter how we ignore them, just won't die? I've got a couple of big ones. [What does chest size have to do with anything?]
1) Rock Princess
As some of you know, this was my biggest dream. I took voice lessons, wrote songs, practiced guitar until I had calluses, and helped form a kick-ass rock band. [Must you use profanity? Oh, wait, yes. You're talking about rock and roll for f*ck's sake.] We performed, recorded, had our music played on the radio, won songwriting awards, and became one of the best original rock bands in Denver. But, over time, I stopped pursuing my greatest passion.
An acoustic guitar sits by my bed taunting me; willing me to joyfully create. [You do realize guitars are inanimate objects, right?] Sometimes I strum the steel strings, but more often, I don't. I still love singing and writing songs, but there's a sadness around it for me. I gave up on the 'big dream,' and hate that I gave up. [Don't be a hater. It's bad karma.]
2) Famous Painter
This may come as a surprise, since I haven't picked up a paintbrush since I was four, but I've daydreamed about painting beautiful masterpieces (think a cross between Monet and DaVinci) for most of my life. [Oh, look! Now a PURPLE elephant is playing with the pink one. How cute!] Alas, this dream dies a quick, painless death each time I choose not to do anything about it.
Then there are the dreams that refuse to die.
My writing is at the top of this list. Since I write full-time, one could say I've already achieved this dream. [BWAHAHAHA! Oh, wait. That wasn't a joke?] My muse, Lenora Esmeralda Cecelia Isabella Alexandria, or Lecia for short, [Your therapist has an opening in an hour. You should snag it.] dances freely through my mind, and with the exception of her waking me up in the middle of the night to write, "You simply must not forget dees, dahlink!" (her words, not mine), I love her with all my writerly heart. [You really are a fruit loop.]
Another dream I have is to turn my new town home (moving in mid-May) into a dwelling deserving of being featured in Architectural Digest. I love interior decorating and long to create unforgettable designs. [And I long to marry George Clooney and live on my own private island, but only one of us is smart enough to realize THAT AIN'T EVER GONNA HAPPEN!] Even if AD never comes calling, the pure joy of creating a living space that reflects my passions, personality, and artistic sensibility will be a gloriously manifested dream. [Oy, just oy.]
What about you? Do you have dreams that won't die? Dreams that pluck at your heart strings like a love-struck harpist? Do you have passions you've left in the dust only to be swept away like a tumbleweed in a whipping, western wind storm?
[Okay, that's it. I've got to stop you right here. You call yourself a writer? WHAT THE HELL WAS THAT LAST PARAGRAPH ABOUT? This literary rubbish is humiliating to you, your parents, family, friends, strangers within a thousand miles, and most importantly, me, your [beloved, precious, beguiling] subconscious. Cut it out or I'll beat Lecia to death with an imaginary wet noodle, and leave you with nothing more than your worthless drivel and worn-out cliches. Don't cross me. I'm warning you! You need to stop this nonsense now. RIGHT NOW!]
I'm not sure why I feel the sudden need to end this post, but I do. So, please, friends, share your dreams. I'd love to hear them all.