Despite being hardly old enough to buy tobacco, I constantly feel that I have no time to complete things I want to accomplish. I have too many friends I care about to hang out with in the vast amount of free time I have, and once school starts again I know that free time will be dwindled down to, maybe, a few hours a day. I’ll have to lose more friends, once again, because not many people can understand that it takes time to get your own life going, unless they have already been through that situation themselves. Even those thoughts enter my mind as I’m swirling in the limbo between sleep and consciousness.

I wish I could go back to the time when I could quickly enter my fantasy world where I was in love with some boy who matched my definition of perfection in every way just before sleep, guaranteeing a peaceful dream, but those days are gone. I find myself bored with the idea of rehashing old romances, and instead fill my mind with images of strange abstract ideas that formulate in an A.D.D. Picasso sort of way that will leave me waking up wondering what in the fuck I just dreamt.

The little things in life excite me now; getting the chance to go shopping riding in a car while listening to music, having people who consider me interesting with out being so messed up I’m slurring my words and shouting profanities, the fact that I can still hold my head high with out having to be reminded to look up by multiple people a day; things some people would never think of because they don’t appreciate it. As that last thought escapes me I realize I’ve become a hypocrite. I’ve never really appreciated my friends, another one of the many faults I will never accept until I manage to change.

So, while dreams intertwine with reality and the past, I find myself wrapped in a blue, penguin printed, fleece blanket, images of the Space Needle being the lifeguard stand at Drum Circle and Laura’s blue-and-gold Macaw walking along the railing filling my head. And perhaps the thought that it would make a great story in the morning is the last conscious thing that crosses my mind before I leave the plot to evolve courtesy of my backlog of memories.