I just had this horrible dream that my dog ran off into the night, got into dogfight and died; I finally found out where he had gone, and when I got there there was blood everywhere but no body. I was crying so hard and then some guy was beside me telling me that my dog had died but that everything was going to be okay and that I had to move because he was trying to tow this car. I asked him why the car was in the middle of the woods and where his tow truck came from because there was no road, but he just kept on whistling and telling me I should clean up the blood. I asked him his name. He stopped whistling for a second, stared right at me and said, “Teddy.” Then he shook my hand and said he was late for a dinner party. He left me standing there in the middle of the woods beside a broken down car and a tow truck.

Dreams are funny things. I love my dog. i hope he doesn’t fall into the thug life and pursue dogfighting, I hope he doesn’t die; I hope he doesn’t come back as a mysterious tow truck driver who stands over random crying people in isolated areas that resemble forests from a Tim Burton movie.

Yes.

• I won’t ask if any of you have ever felt this way but I’ll tell you something I’ve been feeling lately. Part of me feels like I exist elsewhere. Somewhere out there is another me that lives and breathes and enjoys doing so. Somewhere out there is ground that my feet are accustomed to. 

  Somewhere out there is a smile and it belongs to that other me. Somewhere out there I feel welcomed. I can feel it; I can hear it. Its like a glorious ringing in my ears that stops me in my tracks and demands my attention. It’s so real that I can almost taste it at times. It’s what keeps me awake at night; it keeps me tossing and turning and running through my dreams. I want to find it;  I want to live it…that feeling of belonging.  It keeps me from settling and at the same time it keeps me glued to my seat in wait for it to make itself known. 

  It troubles me and excites me at the same time.  I’m so curious…I can’t stand it.  I know curiosity killed the cat, but  I’m not a cat and  I’m certain that finding out about  this would not kill me.  I can’t shake it. I don’t want to. 

  I want to seek it out–this other me.  I want to find her. I want to BE her. 

  Maybe this makes no sense.  It doesn’t really matter, though; it’s how  I feel.