My dream living place would probably look something like this. Big woolfy dog included.

I start to really hate white walls. 
But that’s what vast majority of rented apartments have.

Also, a cold place with minimum insects, please. 
And no tall buildings blocking your sky and looking into your windows.

I can dream.
Dreaming makes me cry these days, but I can dream.

The weird shit I dreamt one day a while ago, was the weirdest and the shittiest shit I’ve seen in a while.
Of the things I could put into coherent words, I remembered conversationally telling someone who wad supposed to be my dead relative that I died on the final month of my pregnancy. And that was not the only dead baby present. There were also exploding buses, falling airplanes, mind-controlling and people-kidnapping slime, people turned into rings, a glimpse of porn, and sassy-talking warrior horses. Overall, imagine a 100 of weirdest sci-fi movies you’ve ever seen cut up and meshed together.

The funnest part that these dreams with my head so much, I managed to go to work without my glasses(hello eye pain and headaches all day long), work ID or phone and music charges. Basically most of things I need to function at work.

2-3 times a week I tend to have rather strange waking-up thoughts. 
My favourite to this day is likely the “If you poke a vampire with a stick he will become dry and delicious” one, which I voiced to a friend who was waking me up after 4 hours of sleep many years ago.

Recently, I woke up with a thought about “whether a person who did not grow up with parental love (let’s define this parameter as ‘an ideal healthy family situation with 2 caring parents present’) can truly write from a perspective of a person who did not, and vice versa.”

I also dreamt about a discussion of responsibility of adults towards those around them vs. towards only themselves.

Can I please sleep without being so busy?

In other words
it’s the
“push me, push me, I want to taste how it feels to fly, before I hit the ground”
state of mind

I will bind and cover hundreds of pages with my insanity
and make my wings out of them
and next time I need to fly and not hit the ground…
… I will.

Of course I’m not the only one who is trying to write this book. I’m trying to write it with all of me. With every me that got buried over the years and who’s memories I took so much care to burn every time. It is the only way to do right by them. Do right by me.