<?xml version='1.0' encoding='UTF-8'?><?xml-stylesheet href="http://www.blogger.com/styles/atom.css" type="text/css"?><feed xmlns='http://www.w3.org/2005/Atom' xmlns:openSearch='http://a9.com/-/spec/opensearchrss/1.0/' xmlns:georss='http://www.georss.org/georss' xmlns:gd='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005' xmlns:thr='http://purl.org/syndication/thread/1.0'><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2968491212699359859</id><updated>2011-07-30T11:24:22.193-07:00</updated><category term='former friend'/><category term='stairs'/><category term='Gus'/><category term='running'/><category term='seats'/><category term='trips'/><category term='stereo'/><category term='cemetary'/><category term='bleached blond'/><category term='buses'/><category term='gas station'/><category term='streets'/><category term='dream'/><category term='scam'/><category term='200'/><category term='13'/><category term='money'/><title type='text'>Silver dreams</title><subtitle type='html'></subtitle><link rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#feed' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://fersdreams.blogspot.com/feeds/posts/default'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/2968491212699359859/posts/default?max-results=100'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://fersdreams.blogspot.com/'/><link rel='hub' href='http://pubsubhubbub.appspot.com/'/><author><name>Jennifer</name><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='21' height='32' src='http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_y3gDT0UMxJ0/SYvFqTGZEgI/AAAAAAAAAAM/vZMHW67I78w/S220/Jan+09+204.jpg'/></author><generator version='7.00' uri='http://www.blogger.com'>Blogger</generator><openSearch:totalResults>8</openSearch:totalResults><openSearch:startIndex>1</openSearch:startIndex><openSearch:itemsPerPage>100</openSearch:itemsPerPage><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2968491212699359859.post-875536049806811761</id><published>2010-10-17T22:55:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2010-10-17T22:55:26.228-07:00</updated><title type='text'>Stabbing</title><content type='html'>When the dream starts, I'm meeting up with two old friends.&amp;nbsp; One was Dana, and I can't remember who the other one was.&amp;nbsp; We're staying in a cabin, catching up.&amp;nbsp; Bill comes in and starts a fight and I'm embarrassed that I have all this drama going on with my friends there.&amp;nbsp; Then someone is coming up to the cabin and for some reason I know it's someone to kill us.&amp;nbsp; I grab a knife and when they come in I start stabbing their hand to get them to drop their knife, but she won't.&amp;nbsp; I end up stabbing her in the chest.&amp;nbsp; I know she's not THE real killer and run to the back door to lock it.&amp;nbsp; It's opening up and I manage to shut it as I wake up.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Somewhere along the way, Joey Lawrence acting really stupid is my kid.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;On our way to the cabin, we interrupt a wedding party having pictures made.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/2968491212699359859-875536049806811761?l=fersdreams.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://fersdreams.blogspot.com/feeds/875536049806811761/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://fersdreams.blogspot.com/2010/10/stabbing.html#comment-form' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/2968491212699359859/posts/default/875536049806811761'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/2968491212699359859/posts/default/875536049806811761'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://fersdreams.blogspot.com/2010/10/stabbing.html' title='Stabbing'/><author><name>Jennifer</name><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='21' height='32' src='http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_y3gDT0UMxJ0/SYvFqTGZEgI/AAAAAAAAAAM/vZMHW67I78w/S220/Jan+09+204.jpg'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2968491212699359859.post-7976858484463778001</id><published>2010-05-11T04:09:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2010-05-11T04:13:48.082-07:00</updated><title type='text'>The Cult</title><content type='html'>I started going to a church and came to realize that it was a cult.  I was trying to get out of it while exposing them, but they caught on and were trying to keep me from leaving and then discrediting me in front of the whole congregation.  I managed to get away, but was being chased.   Finally, the leader appears and tosses me a shield that looks to be made of really thin metal that reminded me of a metal garbage can.  It's painted on one side.  Very thin though, but effective enough to protect me from the barrage of staples coming at me from the guy's rapid-fire staple gun.  In the end I was up against the neighbor's house with a pillow in front of me (instead of the shield) and the pillow was pinned to the wall by hundreds of staples but I was unhurt. &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Then something about a little elephant coming to save the day, but the guy was already gone.  I don't know.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I need to stop reading Koontz before bed.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/2968491212699359859-7976858484463778001?l=fersdreams.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://fersdreams.blogspot.com/feeds/7976858484463778001/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://fersdreams.blogspot.com/2010/05/cult.html#comment-form' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/2968491212699359859/posts/default/7976858484463778001'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/2968491212699359859/posts/default/7976858484463778001'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://fersdreams.blogspot.com/2010/05/cult.html' title='The Cult'/><author><name>Jennifer</name><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='21' height='32' src='http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_y3gDT0UMxJ0/SYvFqTGZEgI/AAAAAAAAAAM/vZMHW67I78w/S220/Jan+09+204.jpg'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2968491212699359859.post-4427744944597929957</id><published>2009-09-17T02:20:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2009-09-17T02:27:26.241-07:00</updated><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='Gus'/><title type='text'>Gus dream</title><content type='html'>In my dream I was supposed to meet Gus at the grocery store and we were going to do something together. I remember thinking in the dream that Bill and I were divorced and that people would talk about Gus and I going out. It wasn't supposed to be a "date", but I think I wanted it to turn out that way. When I got to the store, it was super crowded and as I was making my way to the registers, I was thinking that it was like a bunch of salmon swimming upstream. After I got to the registers,&lt;em&gt; &lt;/em&gt;I could see Gus talking to a couple of other people. The toy department was right there, so I went over there to wait. It was very sparse and the toys were very old and raggedy looking. I saw some people from work and chatted with them for a minute and then saw the people Gus was talking to headed to the checkout.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Then my alarm went off.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/2968491212699359859-4427744944597929957?l=fersdreams.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://fersdreams.blogspot.com/feeds/4427744944597929957/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://fersdreams.blogspot.com/2009/09/gus-dream.html#comment-form' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/2968491212699359859/posts/default/4427744944597929957'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/2968491212699359859/posts/default/4427744944597929957'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://fersdreams.blogspot.com/2009/09/gus-dream.html' title='Gus dream'/><author><name>Jennifer</name><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='21' height='32' src='http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_y3gDT0UMxJ0/SYvFqTGZEgI/AAAAAAAAAAM/vZMHW67I78w/S220/Jan+09+204.jpg'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2968491212699359859.post-2198476511365136394</id><published>2009-09-03T05:05:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2009-09-03T05:07:14.883-07:00</updated><title type='text'>Pregnant</title><content type='html'>I was folding baby clothes and feeling kind of bummed that Zoe had outgrown them and that she wasn't a baby anymore.  Then I remembered that I was pregnant and was very excited that there would be another baby.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/2968491212699359859-2198476511365136394?l=fersdreams.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://fersdreams.blogspot.com/feeds/2198476511365136394/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://fersdreams.blogspot.com/2009/09/pregnant.html#comment-form' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/2968491212699359859/posts/default/2198476511365136394'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/2968491212699359859/posts/default/2198476511365136394'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://fersdreams.blogspot.com/2009/09/pregnant.html' title='Pregnant'/><author><name>Jennifer</name><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='21' height='32' src='http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_y3gDT0UMxJ0/SYvFqTGZEgI/AAAAAAAAAAM/vZMHW67I78w/S220/Jan+09+204.jpg'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2968491212699359859.post-4372638533817254760</id><published>2009-08-11T04:48:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2009-08-11T04:53:12.496-07:00</updated><title type='text'>Cleaning the shower</title><content type='html'>I was in a large public bathroom, but the stalls were all showers.  I wanted to clean them and went through spraying each one down.  I wished that I had more water pressure to spray with.  Peanut was in one stall, and looked at me like I was a little crazy, but turned around and ignored me.  I went about cleaning.  There was one big stall that was for our family and I didn't worry too much about that, just the other stalls.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Then I was at a lake reading a magazine.  Tonya and Amanda were playing in the lake.  They got out and I noticed Tonya was wearing ugly brown loafers.  I didn't want her to see me, but I knew it was inevitable.  Then I woke up...&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/2968491212699359859-4372638533817254760?l=fersdreams.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://fersdreams.blogspot.com/feeds/4372638533817254760/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://fersdreams.blogspot.com/2009/08/cleaning-shower.html#comment-form' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/2968491212699359859/posts/default/4372638533817254760'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/2968491212699359859/posts/default/4372638533817254760'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://fersdreams.blogspot.com/2009/08/cleaning-shower.html' title='Cleaning the shower'/><author><name>Jennifer</name><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='21' height='32' src='http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_y3gDT0UMxJ0/SYvFqTGZEgI/AAAAAAAAAAM/vZMHW67I78w/S220/Jan+09+204.jpg'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2968491212699359859.post-8713570632937582100</id><published>2009-03-24T06:54:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2009-03-24T07:03:57.669-07:00</updated><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='money'/><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='scam'/><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='200'/><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='13'/><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='stereo'/><title type='text'>$13 VS $200</title><content type='html'>In my dream, my husband and I were selling a stereo.  It was nothing much, like the little boombox that we have in the girls' room.  I remember thinking in the dream we'd only get $13 for it.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Bill came up to me all excited that he had found a couple at Walmart that wanted to buy the stereo.  I was very skeptical and told him I didn't think it was  a good idea.  He ran off very excited.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;He came back home and was no longer in such a good mood.  I asked him how much he got for the stereo and he avoided the topic.  Finally he told me that the couple had duped him into buying a brand new stereo for them for about $200.  I was stunned and worried about how losing $200 would effect us... and upset that even after my warnings that I thought it was a bad idea that he went ahead and did it anyway.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/2968491212699359859-8713570632937582100?l=fersdreams.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://fersdreams.blogspot.com/feeds/8713570632937582100/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://fersdreams.blogspot.com/2009/03/13-vs-200.html#comment-form' title='1 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/2968491212699359859/posts/default/8713570632937582100'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/2968491212699359859/posts/default/8713570632937582100'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://fersdreams.blogspot.com/2009/03/13-vs-200.html' title='$13 VS $200'/><author><name>Jennifer</name><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='21' height='32' src='http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_y3gDT0UMxJ0/SYvFqTGZEgI/AAAAAAAAAAM/vZMHW67I78w/S220/Jan+09+204.jpg'/></author><thr:total>1</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2968491212699359859.post-8083606155442789539</id><published>2009-03-23T12:06:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2009-03-23T12:14:55.683-07:00</updated><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='former friend'/><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='buses'/><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='seats'/><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='gas station'/><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='bleached blond'/><title type='text'>T and the Rearranged Seats</title><content type='html'>I don't remember a whole lot of this dream. I know that "T" was in it... she is a former friend of mine.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I remember that I was going to go on a trip and my husband was in charge of getting the bus ready. Not sure why we were taking a bus, but we were. I believe we were at a gas station or something. I remember someone telling me that T was around and I was annoyed. I walked over near the pumps and I could see the back of her and her hair was bleached really blonde. I just looked straight ahead of me and ignored her. I knew she saw me and was shocked to see me there, but she didn't say anything to me and I ignored her. There were 2 buses, only it was just the seats... like the rest of the bus was invisible. I noticed that our bus seats were all rearranged and mixed in with T's bus's seats and I was really mad about it. I did not want her to go on our trip with us. Bill said it was the most logical and easiest way to arrange the seats.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;And that's all I remember....&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/2968491212699359859-8083606155442789539?l=fersdreams.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://fersdreams.blogspot.com/feeds/8083606155442789539/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://fersdreams.blogspot.com/2009/03/t-and-rearranged-seats.html#comment-form' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/2968491212699359859/posts/default/8083606155442789539'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/2968491212699359859/posts/default/8083606155442789539'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://fersdreams.blogspot.com/2009/03/t-and-rearranged-seats.html' title='T and the Rearranged Seats'/><author><name>Jennifer</name><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='21' height='32' src='http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_y3gDT0UMxJ0/SYvFqTGZEgI/AAAAAAAAAAM/vZMHW67I78w/S220/Jan+09+204.jpg'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2968491212699359859.post-5311201214082576912</id><published>2009-03-14T08:43:00.001-07:00</published><updated>2009-03-14T08:46:10.988-07:00</updated><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='cemetary'/><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='streets'/><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='trips'/><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='stairs'/><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='dream'/><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='running'/><title type='text'>Stairs and Cemetary</title><content type='html'>I said I was going to keep a dream journal.  I really haven't had any dreams I remember until this morning.  I remember the fleeting feeling of one the other day that I know my best friend was in, but that's about it.  So this is my first dream entry.  And it's a doozy..&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;After Olivia woke us up this morning to get her cereal that she wouldn't eat, I fell back asleep on the couch for 4 hours.  Much love to my husband for the extra sleep, but damn I had a weird dream (not to mention my day is all jacked up LOL).  This is what I remember...&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;em&gt;I somehow got invited to go on this school trip with teenage Bill and his school.  We were going to Italy.  I was super excited.  My bags were already loaded up and we were waiting on his dad, but everyone else had left and were waiting in traffic to get to the airport.  Apparently they all left super early and we were waiting until closer to the time for the plane to  leave.  I was running around the house grabbing things I had forgotten, some shirts and books to read... and I had a baby that I don't think was mine but I had to take anyway.  I kept running around with this bundle of blankets, shirts and books trying to keep this baby wrapped up and wondering how well she'd sleep on the plane ride.&lt;/em&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;em&gt;&lt;/em&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;em&gt;And his dad (who didn't look like his dad) had this weird bathroom contraption so he wouldn't get pee on himself at all.  &lt;/em&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;em&gt;&lt;/em&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;em&gt;Anyway, the next thing I remember, Bill and I are walking around his school, kind of like he's patrolling it.  There was this staircase we had to go down... kind of like bleacher risers, which I hate to go down in the first place (I feel gravity way too well) and in addition to that, most of the stairs were broken and bungee cords were stretched out in their place.  It was terrifying going down these stairs.  I felt like I was going to go flying down them and crash off of the landing.  I looked at Bill and told him whoever thought of the bungee cords was a freaking moron and then could see in his face that it was his idea.  I didn't get hurt - made it to the bottom.&lt;/em&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;em&gt;&lt;/em&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;em&gt;Then the next thing is that I'm jogging around this really old, really fancy neighborhood, only the streets are all full of bumps and potholes.  I seem to remember that Bill took me along these houses earlier and think I can make it back to his house by myself, but I really don't quite know where to go.  I come across this place and there are a lot of mayors and governers and I know that they're all full of shit and while this is a nice neighborhood, I know they really live somewhere much better.  &lt;/em&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;em&gt;&lt;/em&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;em&gt;Then I see the opening of an old cemetary.I jog through, thinking that this is going to be like Italy... lots of old white statues.  A lot of angels, a lot of them fallen down and falling apart.  Some stacked up around the entrance.  It was beautiful and I wished I had my camera, but I was OK because I knew I would have it in Italy and those places would be way better.  At the end of the cemetary I could go one way and there was a museum with a mummy that I could see from the door and the other way was a gift shop.  I went towards the gift shop and went out the door and started jogging again.&lt;/em&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;And that's all folks.  I do have to say that I don't think the dream says a whole lot of good about my state of mind...&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/2968491212699359859-5311201214082576912?l=fersdreams.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://fersdreams.blogspot.com/feeds/5311201214082576912/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://fersdreams.blogspot.com/2009/03/stairs-and-cemetary.html#comment-form' title='1 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/2968491212699359859/posts/default/5311201214082576912'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/2968491212699359859/posts/default/5311201214082576912'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://fersdreams.blogspot.com/2009/03/stairs-and-cemetary.html' title='Stairs and Cemetary'/><author><name>Jennifer</name><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='21' height='32' src='http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_y3gDT0UMxJ0/SYvFqTGZEgI/AAAAAAAAAAM/vZMHW67I78w/S220/Jan+09+204.jpg'/></author><thr:total>1</thr:total></entry></feed>
