Dream Journal

Due to the larger amount of dreams I've been remembering lately, I wanted to extend this blog to be somewhat of a dream journal as well.  I won't write anything complicated, just the last bit I remember before my alarm clock wakes me up.  I'll go ahead and write to someone that was in the dream.

Dear Jean,

I had a dream last night and you were in it. I was being chased by Bill Murray (he wanted to make out with me) and he was chasing me through this really big college-like building with lots of stairs (which conveniently turned into ramps when I approached them) and slippery floors. I was wearing socks and he wasn't, so I kept extending my lead by sliding everywhere. The final flight of stairs (ramp) that I went down had the exit at the bottom and I cruised through. Walking outside on cement ground for a change I saw you and a bunch of your friends playing marco polo on land. I also saw Amy and she was complaining about having guy problems. 

Bill Murray was nowhere in sight. 

Blueberry fields forever

Yesterday night, Jean's bff, Amy, had to dogsit/housewatch in Pittsboro (right near camp!).  Amy decided to make a sleepover out of it.  Lyell from Wilmington was also there and the four of us enjoyed an evening playing with the giant dogs, eating pasta and Amy's salsa, learning/teaching Purple Haze on the guitar, youtubing and playing with each other's hair, below:

The best part about my stay with Jean's friends, however, was the blueberry picking.  They were so naturally sweet and, therefore, divinely delicious.  There's just something so perfect about going out into a garden and gathering fresh fruit for yourself.

Blueberries that are a no no to eat