I have a reoccurring dream that all of civilization resides on various platforms atop seemingly endless pillars in the sky. The way to get from one platform to another is always very difficult and dangerous.
One of the ways to get from place to place was roller coaster-like contraptions that would swing up, changing every few seconds. They would switch entrances to intice you with, from a flashy McDonald's sign sporting a large, frankly creepy Ronald McDonald clown, to a simple portal leading to the grocery store.
The way to board one of these swirling, precarious tubes was to jump from your platform into it.
Sounds easy enough, until you take into account the empty space beneath you leading to fluffy, white, unsupportive clouds.
I've always had a bit of a fear of heights, and my usual way of getting past my fear in the real world is to estimate how high up I am, calculate how high I have been in the past (say, while riding in an airplane) and tell myself "I've been higher than this before."
This method, while effective in my usual physical surroundings, has no use in dream world; I am up above thick clouds where I have no idea how high I am, for I cannot see the earth, or whatever planet I am perched above, and thin atmosphere is not an issue, so I don't even have whether or not I can breath to give me a point of reference.
I am usually a small child in these dreams, with some sort of mother figure with me whom I cling to.
It is so windy on these minuscule islands that I feel as if I could blow off of at any moment, so I hold onto whatever I can, be it the aforementioned parent or a seemingly sturdy piece of architecture.
A book I've been trying to finish for the past four months finally, mercifully, ended (more accurately, I skipped to the end because I could not bare the author's anthropomorphic comments about her horses anymore, among other idiotic behavior she boldly displayed) without much character growth and no change to the plot other than a horse the author was trying to nurse back to health had to be put down because of a fatal tumor.
I half-enjoyed reading the book when she was actually talking about the animals, which the title indicated it was written about, until she displayed how LITTLE she knew about horses.
She wrote affectionately about how her lead mare would push her around, bite her, and step on her feet if she didn't give the horse a treat, or it's feed right away, or if she happened to give one horse more attention then the lead mare.
She would also pretend she knew what the horses were thinking, and wrote things like 'one group looked like it was gossiping about the other horses.' It was irritating to me, reading about how she would project her own insecurities and criticisms onto other humans and onto her horses.
This was not a fictional character. The author was writing about herself.
She also claimed that she had a degree in English, and that she used to teach it to highschool students, when her writing and ability to make a pleasant to read paragraph was no better than my ability to do so, and I am a unschooled young adult, not a middle aged English teacher.
Really, I would never have found this unhappy piece of literature if it wasn't for Glamazon.com suggesting it to me based on my interest in a far superior book, that was more of a informational novel on how the author became a equine facilitated therapist, not an autobiography about a dysfunctional nitwit.
Anyway, people irritate me, and I wish more people were actually exceptional at what they do.
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