Ezekiel and Westley.

I plan to write about the ocean today. If only to prove myself wrong. And clean my room. Because my room is such a mess. Positively, it is. I'm not even kidding.

I need to make bread.

I went on a run this morning. Two miles. Then I came home and put my chickens outside and read Ezekiel. Ezekiel is odd. He talks about tiles and buns and iron pans and laying on your left side for a really long time. I don't get it.
Nathan called me yesterday. He told me about Guatemala and said I should draw pictures of Ezekiel. Maybe I will. One for him at least. Possibly chapter four.

Last night I had a dream.

Because my room is such a mess, Mandy and I are sleeping in Fran's extra bed. It is very uncomfortable because it's a twin. So of course I had not so good dreams.
In my dream I was trying to make books, and everyone kept calling for me and ringing the doorbell. So I had all these partway finished books on my bed and I was getting really upset. Magazine pictures and paints and paper were everywhere. I was trying to paint the sea and I couldn't. I was also very dissatisfied with the bodice of my girl's dress that I was drawing.
It was all just a big mess.
I had locked the door, but then someone climbed in through my window and I got really mad at him. I asked him to please just leave me alone, and then because I said "please" my dream switched to some sort of Princess Bride-esqe type of dream. Maybe because I have been reading that book. And I was Buttercup and dragging Westley to a cave and it was raining and he was bleeding all over. It was nothing like in the book. It was much more violent and dark. I knew he was dying. And I kept getting upset at my dress because it was all wet and too long and clingy and the book in my pocket was sopping.
The ocean was crashing on the horizon.
I woke up and went to get dressed for my run.

Now I will drink some tea and look for those caraway seeds again. We have to have some. I want to make that German bread so bad. I can just imagine it now, me at the table eating that bread and drawing the ocean.
Also, one last thing should be noted because I think it affected my dreaming too. I read "Peter Pan" yesterday and cried over the ending when Wendy is grown up.
Maybe I should stop reading so much.