The Dream Journal

onceiwantedtobe asked: Hi! I'm also going to SLC for grad school in the fall. You mentioned you already registered and I was wondering if that was just for your program or we can all go crazy registering! I'm an art of teaching student. :D

I’m going for writing and they emailed us a couple of weeks back, giving us the head’s up that registration was opening for this week. Basically I went onto myslc and filled out a form that requested my preferences for the three courses writing students have to take. Nothing is set in stone yet, they have to make sure the classes fill evenly, which is why they asked for a first, second, third, etc preference for classes.

That’s what writing students have to do, at least. I would email the grad dept or the head of your program and see if registration is open for you guys yet. It might depend on the program? But it might not.

iheldyourhand:

Stay under the water until the fireworks boom.

When your feet start kicking just breath out to make some room.

You might be scared of drowning but you can’t resist the blue,

and it’s quiet below the surface where the light bends over you.

Your mind never could tell your heart and legs what they should do.

They’ll never know your secret if it’s buried with the clues.

(via wolfinhumanclothing)

I think I’m going to start catcalling at men on the street. Make things a little more even.

Do people even realize how uncomfortable being approached by a stranger and hit on makes us feel?

Heads up world: Maybe this is just me, but I never find catcalls to be a compliment. They feel more like a threat.

This dream is jumbled.

One.
Tropical fish that change color depending on their mood. A yellow fish with a finned back and long snout changing to red when I forget to feed him.

Two.
I’m hosting a party at the house I grew up in. My friends and I are lounging on the big, green couch we used to have in the old living room. We are all in bathing suits. A man lies down next to me and I wrap myself around him, lay my head on his chest and close my eyes. When I open them he’s gone. My friends ask me who he is and I don’t know. I can’t remember his face.

Three.
In my backyard, standing on the rough wood porch. The pool is empty. Everyone is gone.

Four.
I’m in Australia again and I feel at home. I’m with another student group, but I lose them and wander around a university campus looking for my camera. I can’t find it anywhere.

Five.
I find the camera and suddenly feel like home is closer than it should be. Suddenly I need to find my group. I rush into a building and climb flight after flight. The walls are made of steel and glass.

Six.
The building is an airport. I find Savannah and a group of people I’ve never seen before trying to buy tickets for ‘615’. I think it’s a flight but the way they talk about it, 615 is a band. The woman at the desk is very helpful, doesn’t seem confused at all. I am.

They’re still talking with the woman at the desk when I wake up.

rdjnews:

by Dana Reinhardt

I’m willing to go out on a limb here and guess that most stories of kindness do not begin with drug addicted celebrity bad boys.

Mine does.

His name is Robert Downey Jr.

You’ve probably heard of him. You may or may not be a fan, but I am, and I was in the early 90’s when this story takes place.

It was at a garden party for the ACLU of Southern California. My stepmother was the executive director, which is why I was in attendance without having to pay the $150 fee. It’s not that I don’t support the ACLU, it’s that I was barely twenty and had no money to speak of.

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(Source: fitofpique, via countinfaultsinthestars)