Have you ever been about to move out of your parents’ house and into an apartment and thought you had a whole other week and then realize that, no, you don’t have two weeks, and you are, in fact, moving this weekend and have virtually nothing packed?
Because I have. I’ve don’t that. As I write this, I’m sitting in my semi-packed, semi-just-mess room with a glass of wine, and…
Nope, that’s about it.
I really imagined I’d have some kind of introspective post this week. Something along the lines of moving out and growing up. Something elegant. Something more than the “holy crap life is weird and here’s my brain waves for the week” thing I’ve done in the past. Something with a beautiful picture of the country area I’ve lived in for 23 years, complete with musings on the city life I’ll soon be experiencing. Most of all, I imagined I’d have something with a point, dammit.
But all I have is an empty wine glass and 75% of my belongings to pack.
This whole moving thing is…weird. Mostly, I’m excited. I’m also a little nervous, a little sad—but mostly excited and ready for a new adventure. However, that is, unfortunately, as articulate as I can be at this moment. So, as a testament to how weird life can be, here is a little story—or dream, actually—that I’m going to share with you. (If you hate it, blame Aly; she’s the one who said I should write about it.)
Earlier this week, I had the strangest dream. One of those ones that just goes on and on. I can’t remember most of it, but the last bit is crystal clear.
Imagine a house out in the country. A brown house. With a girl standing in front of it. It could be a random girl, it could be me, or you—but either way your vantage point is a few yards back and a few yards up, like you’re a giant or having an out of body experience. And there’s flames. The girl is standing in front of the brown house surrounded by flames. It’s a wildfire. Her lungs are filling up with smoke. There’s no escape.
Until Elmo leaps out of nowhere and saves her!
Yes. That Elmo.
That furry bright red body flies out of the lower righthand corner of the movie screen of this dream and, somehow, saves the girl. All is well.
And that is when I woke up, super confused and laughing. Where the hell did Elmo come from?
Sometimes things don’t make sense, just like sometimes blog posts don’t really have a clear point. Let’s face it: Life doesn’t always make sense. And that’s okay.