I dream every night. I mean,  everyone dreams every night, but nine mornings out of ten I can recall segments of what I’ve dreamt.  Most of my reveries are a mish-mash of symbols.  People I’m thinking of before I doze off will understandably make an appearance, but with a twist, like that one time I made out with Johnny Depp in a golf cart that drove itself .

I do have a couple reoccuring dreams, like the ones about this library I’ve never been to. I’m kind of amazed that I’ve created this massive, gorgeous library in my head, and each time I revisit it subconsciously, it looks exactly the same. But the thing I dream about most? Planes. I dream about planes all. the. time. I’ve witnessed a plethora of plane crashes in my sleep;  only once have I been in the plane when it crashes. It’s almost exhausting, because the symbolism with planes is so obvious and it’s almost like my subconscious mind is constantly taunting my conscious mind. And by “taunting,” I mean my subconscious gives my conscious the ol’ boxcheck on a weekly basis.

This is my new reoccurring dream pattern:

I am sitting on an airplane (destination unknown) but the plane never takes off.  Instead, the plane just taxis around for the entirety of the dream. Typically, the plane isn’t even at an airport or on a runway — it’s on some road in the middle of nowhere, just puttering along. Sometimes I hear the engines revving, the plane speeds up, and I think to myself, holy shit, we’re going to take off in the middle of this two lane country road. But just when I think we’re lifting off the ground, the engine roars die down, the plane loses speed, the aimless moseying continues.

It’s like, OKAY, OKAY, I GET IT. MY LIFE’S JOURNEY. Working on it.

Now can we please get back to Johnny Depp and the making out?