You know I'm a dreamer, but my heart's of gold

I've never been good at remembering my dreams.  I remember them occasionally. 

In my dreams, I may be climbing a cliff, running through dense forest, playing poker, or being chased by lions while hyenas laugh at me (yup, that's right).  They may include my mother, who passed away over 10 years ago, or be set in the town where I grew up, and left after high school.  The dreams I remember seem to fit common symbols and archetypes.  There are logical reasons why they occurred.

I had two dreams that included cake this week; not a surprise that my birthday is coming up.  In one of those dreams, I taunted Shaquille O'Neal for throwing a football like a girl.  Perhaps I am concerned because he is long past his prime and has other interests besides basketball.  Perhaps I never cared before, but now he is playing for my favorite basketball team, the Boston Celtics.

Nice bow tie.

I figure that if I ever want to pursue becoming a serious writer, the way to begin is by keeping a bedside notebook and doing a better job documenting my dreams.  Anyone reading this knows I am not a serious writer.

For now, I'll just settle for the pen and paper that I use to write down ideas for this blog.