I know where I'm dreaming.
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I like to think that all people leave the world of their daily tasks for a pleasant, and personal daydream. I believe that while dreaming these two worlds should not be altogether separate, but that the boundaries should be blended between them. Using imagination, I will elaborate on metaphorical connections I make between what is real in that moment, tugging at my senses; and an aspect which I add that is unreal, which I add like an imaginatively create spice to my life. This way, while in the daydreaming world, I can still remember to accomplish tasks and avoid danger without having to be so bored.

As the skateboarder rolls down a concrete sidewalk, the movement of his wheels thunder with his weight, and make a series of loud thudding noises across the cracks that grid the sidewalk into square blocks. The thudding sounds are neither interesting nor ominous until he picks up speed, as the sounds blend into a beat of four repeating thuds, which I connect together and imagine to be just like the galloping danger of a horse’s hooves. This metaphorical connection is not completely for daydreaming’s sake, it helps me to remember avoiding the sound while I’m dreaming. If I’m walking down the sidewalk to class early in the morning while my senses are still blurred with sleep, and a longboarder, who has presumably also just woken up comes barreling towards me down the same sidewalk as myself, I know to look out for the longboarder through my dream because of the metaphorical parallel I make between the danger of a sleepy longboarder and a horse; who rolling down the sidewalk, might stomp on my ankle. I connect both of these sounds to real life danger; and unless I’m in a dangerous mood, I will avoid the rolling wheels and the galloping hooves as they come by. Using this metaphorical connection, I can remain daydreaming, and conscious of what is happening around me in a safe way.

When I find myself trapped in an inevitably boring situation, like a crowded waiting room of people being served at the DMV; I take my numbered ticket, and begin slipping into the dream on my way to taking a seat. There isn’t really much to elaborate on at the DMV. I notice the mothers sitting with their children, who’s imaginations are always running wild under the constraints of this boxed waiting room. From my experience they will misbehave, acting energetically happy, or huffy and upset while passing the time with their parents in chairs. “Ah” I think to myself, “those were rough times”; waiting rooms during childhood were a vast, boring time of why for me. I am different as an adult, (or at least a college aged adult); I no longer twist my body around the legs of a chair, and make funny faces to spite my parent’s embracement and control. For one thing, to act so childishly would be a violation of the behavior expected of adults in society; for another this kind of dreaming doesn’t hold much amusement for me anymore. As an adult, I have to pay attention to what is happening in the DMV, or any other situation in the world around me. I need to notice when they call my number, because if I miss my turn I will have to get another number stub, and spend more time in the boring hell of the DMV. I have to be consciously aware of important real world details as I daydream or I’ll miss important moments. I still zone out, live imaginatively like a pirate on a ship; but this ship must have the yellow-white walls of the DMV, and the captain should be quietly calling out ticket numbers instead of pirate orders.
Author:George