Electricty

I don't have flying dreams... I have running dreams. Or leaping dreams. I'll lope along at varying speeds, each stride taking me farther and farther until I'm at the verge of losing control. Sometimes I'm on the moon. More often I'm in one of my childhood neighborhoods at night, streetlamps spaced evenly along the eerily straight stretch of road, each casting its own pallid pool of light. I speed by, sometimes jumping high enough for my head to be on a level with the roofs of the surrounding houses. Sometimes I peer into windows as I pass, see myself sleeping in strange beds with strange parents hovering just outside the door, whispering in hushed tones.

Tonight the sounds of the wind remind me of something. I with I knew what it was. I just know that I want more... the feeling of the word gust just feels right in my mouth and in my ears, and each time the tree outside rustles with the renewed vigor of the wind, I feel equal parts thrill and nostalgia.
I've never been on a sailboat off of Cape Cod with the sea winds blowing through my hair, but the imagery seems appropriate for the kind of emotive flashes of memory I continue to have. It may have been a dream.

I don't know what I want.

Actually, I do know what I want. I want to own my own bookstore, with my very own bookstore cat. I need to start figuring out what I need to do to make that happen. Business classes, maybe? Some knowledge of the book trade? I don't know. I'm just aware of a growing desire to accomplish something, probably a holdover from driving across the country on my last dime. Once you pop, you just can't stop.