It is scary how vivid drams can be. Always and forever idealized, glowing in technicolor red, orange yellow, green, blue, indigo, violet. Romantic interests, the romantic lead is always to be a fantastical, idealized version of my elementary school crush. 5% body fat, tall with all the trimmings. If the dream is of a home or a house, it is consistently my first home. Who knew I would come to know so many homes in my time? Colors pop, like the red of the Jeep Wrangler in Saturday’s dream. Bright, bright, bright. The buildings are always a maze of complex hallways to run through and outward. It appears like a Frank Gehry building stacked, on and on, limitless and unrelenting. In the hallways, there is only running never walking. Parking lots always dark, dusty, sprawling, never small and simple with lines. The narrative is always spotty once I wake up, but makes complete sense when I am asleep. I piece it together when I wake up, but do a terrible job of it. I’m too anxious, struggling to remember the events that took place. My memory is imperfect. There are just spots of that unbelievable imagined space and time left for me to play with. Do I make up my own story with the pieces, or do I try to be as real to the actual events of the dream as possible? Imagination – the capacity and capability for our mind to run wild and have fun. We forget about it in our waking lives, but don’t while we are asleep. We forget about fun, but our minds never do. Our minds run away and amok with fun!