Wednesday, November 22, 2006

Despite the hype, Dream recorder's pictures and records of my sleep patterns are quite anticlimactic. It identifies the times that I dream and the time that I really get into that deep sleep but who cares. It can't tell me what's going on inside my head. It can't roll up it's sleeves and jump into those dreams where a travel down and each and every path I've imagined my life taking.

There's one filled with a big city and big love. There's one filled with snow and action and adventure. There's one filled with celebrities and big houses. There's one filled with the dirt from 10x5 foot hole in the ground. Each sliding down their own wire like a Hooters order on it's way from the waitress to the kitchen (I went there for the first time recently. Just about as blah as I expected.) and in every one there's always that voice pushing me to challenge something. Take it head on.

Does this mean I'm a person with a lot of regrets? I don't think so. I don't really know what kind of person I am. All I know is that I'm the kind of guy who will just stop calling a girl back. No, "It's not you it's me." No, "this just isn't working out." One day I'll just stop punching in the numbers. One day she'll just get one or two rings then it's straight to voicemail. Sure blame me. But I'm not even sure I'm the keeper of my own heart. I clipped it to the wire piece by piece and slid each one down the wire into the Hooters kitchen. I just hope they didn't throw it in the deep fryer.

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