Dreaming

I have read that some people think that life is but a dream. My life consists of what I dream. My world consists of what I dream. Which would mean that I'm dreaming you are reading this. Or maybe not because very few people read this blog. (Maybe I should have a giveaway or better dreams? maybe it doesn't matter, because I still am dreaming I'm writing this). Oh well. So if this "dream = life" theory were true, that what I dream is real and that really no one else exists, and I dream all events that happen to or concern me, would I ever dream anything bad? Would I dream I am sitting at work writing this or would I dream I am sitting by the ocean writing this? What if I am sitting by the ocean writing this and having a bad dream that I'm at work? Yikes. This could get very complicated.
This is the kind of thing I think about when I don't want to think about real life. Whatever that is.
What do you think (wait a minute while I dream your response)?

I don't have a question, yet, or a complaint, yet, but I did want to post a photo of my dearly departed Beetle.
RIP car.

Eight things I don't like

1) Setting a baby, especially one in a diaper only, on a food counter. Granted, it's a fast food counter, but still.
2) Drivers that pull out in front of me at the speed of light and then come to a stop.
3) Tomatoes (I give them to my turtles, they love a nice red tomato!).
4) Being poor (anyone know a rich old man with a British accent who's available?).
5) Cups of my iced tea spilling in my car.
6) The very, very HOT weather we've been having.
7) Going a day without washing my hair.
8) Slugs.

Picture this....

There's a blog you follow or just find yourself checking out from time to time, okay? Do you ever wonder what that blogger looks like?
I am usually caught up in the art or the words and maybe, maybe sometimes, have an impression of the blogger, but don't actually stop to wonder if the person is a certain age, or has a Mohawk, or always dresses in pink, I just don't. It doesn't really matter to me, so why wonder?
Jazz will probably know why this is on my mind. She posted some lovely photos from her vacation, and included a couple of her & Mr. Jazz. I hope I wasn't rude, but I left a comment that she looked normal. I didn't mean that in a rude way, and didn't have a picture in my mind of what she might look like (I can't imagine why that would matter, and it didn't to me). I think I was thinking edgy, tough but pretty, maybe a cigarette hanging out of the side of her mouth (just kidding). I have no idea why I expected anything at all.
So, the question is: do you "picture" bloggers that haven't/don't post photos of themselves?

Where I live = who I am?

I live in a small town along the Western shore of the Chesapeake Bay (population about 2,000). Every morning, or any time, I walk to the end of my driveway, I can turn to my left, and there she is, just a few blocks away, the might Bay. The town has a post office, a (wonderful) candy store, a coffee/bakery shop, a few antique stores, an art co-op, a couple of places to eat, and a few other businesses. I don't always lock my doors (I also have two good-sized dogs) and last winter when Maryland got hit with 2' of snow, my neighbors helped me shovel out the driveway. It's not heaven, but it'll do.
I love living where I do, but I suspect I like as much (or maybe more) saying where I live.
So my question is: how much does where we live define us? Or does it at all?
Let me know what you think, ok?
Happy days!

F*** you, you piece of S#@t!!!

Yeah, that was me before I taught myself to drive one car at a time. I had the loudest, most used horn, and my middle finger was on alert as soon as I started the car (even before I left the driveway, you never know). One of my favorite driving skills was to slam on the brakes if someone was tailgating, wow, that was fun. What else, let's see, dirty looks were the least of my repertoire, and screaming ugly words was an art for me.
One day I had an Oprah light bulb moment: nobody really did anything differently. I had no control over other drivers. I was all in a rage & my blood pressure was up, and okay, maybe I got a few reactions, but mostly other people still drove like morons (never me, I am a good driver!).
So I changed, became a mellow zen-like driver. Cut me off, no problem. Drive 20 mile under the speed limit, yeah, I'll tag along or pass when it's safe. Ride on my bumper, here, let me pull over so you can pass me.
Strange but true.
I sometimes, just for the memories, toot my horn, and once or twice I've raised my middle finger in a friendly salute. Generally, me & my beetle just toodle along nice as can be.
What about you? What kind of a driver would you say/write that you are?
Happy days.

Next question:

What is sadder than a blog without comments?
Not much.
I'll have to come up with a question that you can't refuse.
I'm thinking.......