"I hope you still love me"

I had a dream last night that really helped me out on a couple of levels.

I was dreaming that I was at my grandparents' old house, and lots of my cousins were there and we were having a sort of family party. Daniel Radcliffe walked up the driveway and I met him at the breezeway door. He embraced me and whispered in my ear "I hope you still love me, because I can't wait to get you alone."

I kissed him tenderly and led him by the hand into the heart of the party. I had a really warm, affectionate feeling for him.

When I woke up this morning, I knew exactly how to fix a bit of writing where I had painted myself into a corner. I had finished a chapter about a page earlier, and had tried to artificially stretch it out with some content that just wasn't working. It felt good to cut it off where the cut belonged. It wasn't the same exactly as doing new writing, but I hadn't had any insight into that manuscript in a while. I think I have a good idea on how to proceed next, so unblocking that felt really good.

Heh heh heh

I have no words.

Awake, yet dreaming

Have your fun with me, but in my dream life I am having an occasional and torrid affair with Daniel Radcliffe. Yes, that one. Not in his early Harry Potter days but much more recently. I had a dream about him last night, one of those strange dreams I have where I am friends with celebrities. Previously, I have dreamed I was friends with Sting, David Bowie, and once I dreamed I was eating a hasty dinner over the sink with Bill Clinton. We were eating tuna tacos, make of that what you will. *snicker*

I thought I didn't get a wink of sleep last night because I had one ear trained on A's room because she has a cold. I guess I drifted off a little, because I was dreaming.

I dreamed that I was walking along a boardwalk that wound through a series of high, sea-grassy sand dunes. They closely resembled the sand dunes I remember capering about on as a child during the summers in Cape Cod. But these dunes were bigger, and I was strolling hand in hand with Daniel Radcliffe.

God, does that ever sound lame when I say it out loud. But it was a really compelling and romantic dream. It wasn't expressly sexual, but the aura of familiarity between us implied intimacy. The whole thing had this hazy, soft focus, Lifetime B-movie feel to it. There was afternoon sunlight and soft ocean breeze. We were holding hands and talking and, if memory serves where modesty might demur, kissing.

How escapist for me, since it was like 28 degrees when I left the house this morning. I have had a number of similar dreams in the last year. I wonder what it means? That I miss Cape Cod? That I miss being young and lithe, or dare I say it, casually sexual? That I am behind on picking up my copy of the "Order of the Phoenix" DVD?

We may never know, since everyone knows I avoid actual couch time at almost all costs. It is a nice diversion for my overly-stressed brain, though.

Welcome to my inner dialog!

I would say inner monologue, but we all know that I am too much of a multi-tasker for that.

I decided to start this blog with the dragon off of the Welsh flag. This is a nod to both my family heritage and my hopes that this little guy will watch my back while I write whatever I choose to post here. I might just use this space to get out all the cuss words I can no longer vocalize now that I am a parent.

Good, Lord. I miss saying FUCK. I miss saying it loud. I miss combining it with other cuss words in long, looping strings of profanity. Now that I have a toddler in my house (my foster-to-hopefully-adopt daughter, hereafter known as "A"), I feel like a raging hypocrite when I admonish her not to use the only cuss word she knows. She picked up the word "dammit" at her last foster home, and even says it in context when she does things like dropping her cheerios on the floor.

It is hard not to laugh, really.

It is really funny how as soon as I get her put to bed, I elect to watch the raunchiest, most violent, and most adult television I can get my hands on. The last thing I want is to become an Uber-Mommy, and so I feel I must inoculate myself against the viral earworms put forth from interminable viewings of the "Elmo's Potty Time" DVD. I get those damn songs from the Wiggles stuck in my head, and it makes me totally mental. That shit will kill more brain cells than all the tequila I drank in my twenties.

Expect random musings here. I wouldn't dare give my blog a theme, because I know I would never be able to adhere to it.

Some likely topics:
1. My experiences with the foster care system as a new parent of a toddler.
2. The occasional artistic outburst. I write poetry and prose when I can, so I'll post that stuff sometimes, or general artistic perspectives.
3. My inappropriate crushes on various celebrities and random people in my sphere of contact.
4. The Boy Wizard, and my squee fangirl obsession with Daniel Radcliffe. See comment about inappropriateness in #3 above.
5. Random rants about shit that bugs me.

Unlikely topics:
1. Fashion: I'm hopeless
2. Celebrity gossip, unless of course it is a celebrity I have an inappropriate crush on.
3. Tech gear.
4. Car parts.
5. Politics: Well. maybe sometimes. See random rants about shit that bugs me.

I'm a total attention whore, so, like, post comments and stuff. I mean, shit.