Queen Elizabeth II, Nikki Sixx and a Canine Amputee

In the interest of taking a (not very deserved) break from the world of systems management, I’m going to take a cue from my Amateur Cognitive Psych friend and blog about the dreams I’ve had over the past week or so. Brace yourselves, they’re pretty messed up.

First one. Maybe…four-ish nights ago. I am riding in the back of a DeLorean DMC-12 a la Back to the Future with some friends. I remember being upset because they wouldn’t let me drive. We somehow fly across the Atlantic and end up outside of the gates of Buckingham Palace. Somehow there were no guards, and somehow we had a pressing meeting with Queen Elizabeth II. We hop out of the DeLorean and traipse right into the place like we own it. I seem to remember wearing jeans. Anyway, Her Majesty had apparently been expecting us, because she immediately descends a grand staircase. Beside her is none other than Nikki Sixx. She introduces him to us as her new boyfriend, and the entire time we are trying to talk with her (couldn’t say what about) they are all over each other, and it is disturbing. I end up making some smart-ass remark (I know, imagine that one) and one of my friends punches me in the face and I fall down. The end.

Second one. Two or three nights ago. I should preface this one by saying that (in real life) my roommates and I had a temporary canine visitor that had run away from home. Several days later, because of signs that DeAnne posted around the neighborhood, we were able to successfully reunite Charlie (his real name was Tucker, but we didn’t feel that suited him) with his rightful owner. Anyway, back to dream world. I come home from work and we apparently still have Charlie, except he is hobbling around on three legs. I bend down to inspect him, and see a huge gash where his front left leg should be. The strange thing is that it wasn’t bleeding, but it was a red, gaping hole. I proceed to freak out and run to DeAnne’s room to ask her what on earth happened to Charlie. She (quite calmly) tells me that she had to punish him for using the bathroom inside, so she cut off one of his legs. I get extremely upset because I don’t understand how this is an acceptable punishment for a puppy who isn’t housetrained yet, and DeAnne and I start chasing each other around the house trying to kill each other. Meanwhile, Charlie is hobbling around without a care in the world. The end.

Thoughts/comments? I promise I am not on drugs. That’s the scary part. The even scarier part is that I have dreams such as these on practically a nightly basis. Freud would have a field day with me.

Props to Chuck for inspiring me to share my twisted dreams with the (virtual) world. Yikes. Alas, I must return to creating Access databases.

Stay tuned!

Salad Dressing and Emerson

So I haven’t posted on here since…July? I have the compulsion to write the way most people have the impulse to breathe, so I do it constantly. Most of it, luckily, is safely tucked away in the pages of my Star Wars journal, but the universally relatable ones will find their way up here. And yes, I am one of those weirdos who enjoys chronicling daily observations in an actual – feel free to gasp – book as opposed to a computer. Damn technology. Did I mention my favorite novel is Brave New World? Nothing like some emotional engineering.

Moving on…while I realize that my previous blogs have had specific, intellectual topics (like Post-Its and CrackBerries), this post will be considerably more…thought-provoking? As if sticky pieces of paper and insomnia-inducing electronic devices weren’t thought-provoking enough.

For those of you who actually know me (as opposed to the random stalkers who read this…yes, I’m flattering myself), you know how…(trying to find a delicate way to phrase this)…”independent-minded” I am. That was putting it as nicely as I can as I’m usually referred to as impossibly stubborn. Anyway. This personality trait makes the following harder to comprehend. Nonetheless, it happens, so I’m assuming if it happened to someone like me it could happen to one of you weaker-willed fools. Just kidding. Maybe. :)

My all-time favorite quote goes a little something (fine, exactly) like this: “I listen with attention to the judgment of all men, but so far as I can remember I have followed none but my own.” Not to paraphrase ol’ Michel de Montaigne, but essentially the key to a fulfilling life is to lend an ear to the opinions of others, but to never take them as gospel over what you believe or decide to do. I’m sure Emerson would agree, with all of his “Self Reliance”-ing.

Sounds easy enough, right? Especially for those of you as obstinate as myself. You would think so. But one thing I’ve noticed recently is how easy it is to take the opinions of others and rely on them so exclusively (consciously or not) that you actually catch yourself believing them to be the absolute truth or (worse) passing off those discernments as your own without question.

This (hopefully) wouldn’t be possible if the individuals offering (or force-feeding, in some cases) you their opinions and advice weren’t your closest friends. I’m not talking about the acquaintances you meet up with every now and then, because their opinions always go in one ear and out the other for me (no offense). I’m talking about the people you see/talk to/live with every day. The people you consider family and would be comfortable calling in the event that you (accidentally, of course) bludgeoned someone to death and needed help disposing of the body. Perhaps I've been watching too much of Tony Soprano lately. I digress.

This is not to say that their advice is ill-willed or unfounded; on the contrary, I believe my closest friends have my best interests at heart. It is just that lately I’ve grown tired of relying too heavily on the advice of others instead of tuning everyone else out and listening to myself.

I believe that this is important to remember in every decision-making instance of life, whether it is something as inconsequential as which salad dressing to get at the grocery store or as life-altering as whether to take an out-of-state job promotion.

Moral of the story (cue cheesy sitcom background music): if you’re like me and have a tendency to ask your friends/family/dog/postman/cactus for advice, it’s important to keep in mind that the only person you should really be asking is yourself. Not only do you know yourself better than anyone else, but you will be the one who has to deal with the outcomes of your decisions (whether they are good, not-so-good or move-to-another-country bad).

Because in the end, you are all you have, and that has to be enough. I’m paraphrasing again (sorry Marya Hornbacher). And when you really think about it, that’s not a bad thing.

Stay tuned!