So, I actually utilized my dream diary this morning. It’s not the first time I’ve used it, but it’s pretty spectacular that I did more than jot some random words down underneath the date. I seriously debated about whether I was going to or not, which I’ve reflected much after the fact and realized that debate was a bad idea. But, for good or bad, I ended up getting up and scrambling around, looking for it. It wasn’t where I had thought I placed it (in my room) but was sitting on my DVD cabinet (no idea why).
The dream, itself, was really fucking weird. There was stuff specific to hoodoo and vodou in it. There was a black family. There was a huge fucking house and a younger white family. The house was mostly in tones of gold and yellow with mahogany wood work. There were Tiffany lamps all over the place, both floor length and table length. I think there were prisms attached to them to reflect the soft light. I think there were some replicas of the alabaster lamps that I want for my bedroom, too. But… I’m not sure. Anyway.
I lost a lot of the dream just by dithering around and trying to decide if I was going to jot it down in my notebook. That sucks because I think it would have been far spicier to look up in the dream dictionary that I have bookmarked. And, quite possibly, I might have been able to go back to sleep and finish it.
And on that note: If my dreams are going to end up like this on a regular basis, I’m going to have to give in and buy a personal copy of a dream dictionary. I remember my best friend in high school had one and I loved it. Hell, I think my whole circle of friends were besties with that damn book. I remember it made its rounds quite frequently. I wish I could remember what kind of dictionary it was because it was fairly accurate as far as I can recall. That’s the other thing about buying my own: WHICH ONE?!?!?!
I could go with the highest rated one on Amazon, but the last time I took a chance like that, I really hated the book. In fact, I’m pretty sure I sold it off to someone. I couldn’t stand anything about it. It was far too new age (it was a book about crystals and gems) for me. And I don’t want to fall into the same rut. However, I get the distinct impression that dream interpretation isn’t a big thing at present. I don’t know. Maybe I can ask the best friend and see if she remembers that far back down the long, long, long, long hallway of her memory. I doubt it, but one could always hope.
Today, I went out and purchased a bunch of pens… and… A TAROT CARD NOTEBOOK. I happened to espy some of the smaller Five Star notebooks that I used exclusively years ago. I wrote Tarot readings in them and then used it as a personal journal of sorts. I filled that bad boy up like it was nobody’s business. I fucking loved how small and portable it was without being as small as the Moleskine that I own. Or… used to own? I can’t even remember. I just remember how damn expensive it was when I bought it. Anyway. So, I bought a smaller portable notebook for future Tarot readings.
So, I guess that means that I should pull out my deck. Well, it gives me a stronger reason than just, you know, the insatiably obnoxious itch that has been plaguing me for who knows how long. OKAY OKAY. I UNDERSTAND. THE NOTEBOOK IS EL-LAME-O since I OBVIOUSLY HAD A REASON TO DO READINGS. But, you know… just staring at a notebook that’s not being used is like a crime in my brain, so. Hopefully, it will kick me into gear.
And, you know, it won’t take me as long as it did with my dream diary.