Dream, Dream, Dream

Last night I watched the Kathleen Savio/Stacy Peterson story. (I know, but I did.) (Also, I don't to say the criminal's name here because it's unnecessary; I honor those who were impacted, not those who abuse and hurt others.) I thought Rob Lowe did a fantastic job with the role; he was completely transformed in pretty much every way. The story is so disturbing, tragic, and maddening. The worst part is that, although some details were changed and scenes fabricated, this is a horrifyingly true story.

Stacy Peterson has been missing since 2007, and her body has never been found. You can help her family and support their efforts to find her at FindStacyPeterson.net. 

Perhaps my subconscious felt the need to punish me for watching it, and I had nightmares all night. I dreamed I was in a really abusive situation, and I went to the local store where Ross from Friends was the store clerk. We became friends, and he helped me conspire to run away from the situation. One time I was in the store with a friend, and I fell to the floor, and he ran to help me and conspire on how I could leave. I woke up before he could actually help me escape, though.

Strangeness. 

For the record, I like the show, but was never a particular fan of Ross. I think all the cast in talented, but Pheobe is by far my favorite character on it. I'd go so far as to call her a kindred spirit. (Not the ditzy parts or the parts where she believes in pseudoscience stuff...but...A vegetarian, Xanadu-loving girl, come on! (-;) Except they went way over the edge with Pheobe for a laugh. I still love her. Not sure why Ross is a hero in my dreams. 

Depressed Miniature Penguins

I woke up this afternoon from a very disturbing dream. I was around animal rescuers who had rescued miniature penguins; they were the size of a sparrow. The poor penguins had been enslaved and abused. The rescuer had an odd method of having them, though; he kept them in makeshift, white ziploc bags. I was worried about them getting enough oxygen so I unzipped the bags.

They could talk. They were happy to be rescued. Yet, one was so near death, it said, "So they're starving me to death. It would be okay if I died because then I'd possess my own life." It could not even really comprehend that it had been rescued after years of abuse.

Such a sad, strange dream. When I woke up, I thought of the millions of animals that are enslaved and tortured for whichever ways we can use and exploit them. It is not excusable simply because it's popular.

I have been watching a lot of historical documentaries lately, and I think they lack objectivity. The narrator often interjects a way of excusing people because of the time period they lived in. Even on slavery, it was dismissed as what was done then, and a person was all but heralded as a god just because he shaked the hand of someone of a different race. Slavery was excused; cruelty in battle was excused. Dozens of things are excused because of the time period historical figures found themselves in.

No, it does not matter that it was popular. If something is cruel...if you commit an injustice...you don't get a free pass because it's the popular thing to do.

I know the penguins were just the product of my imagination, but the other animals living in cruel and enslaved conditions are not in my head. They're in the world, suffering right now. It's not okay to pay someone for a decaying corpse of a once living, breathing and feeling animal just because it can be done at the local grocery store. It's not right. It must be stopped. A human who chooses to eat an animal is unethical and unfathomably cruel, even if it doesn't feel that way because the cruelty of the action is disguised by its own popularity and the convenience of getting it from the store next door and the encouragement from the romaticized television commercial that offers 10 decaying chicken body parts for $20. 

Dreams, Rage and a Bread Bowl

I just had the most delicious soup in a bread bowl at the Atlanta Bread Company. Did you know that their bread bowl is vegan? It's so divine. I could just eat it every single day. I have always savored delicious food, and that was most definitely delicious food! 

It almost cheers me up from the fact that I just had to tell someone that it is wrong to hit children. Luckily, the person in question does not have children and, to my knowledge, has no access to beat them. If said person did, I'd report him in a New York minute. I have reported someone before for bragging on beating their children via Facebook. Unfortunately, nothing was done because I'd never seen the child. I strongly, strongly believe that there is no excuse for abuse, and I have zero tolerance for it. 

So, it made me so, so very sad that someone tried to justify the fact that hitting children is okay. I'd really like to live in a world where it was at least understood that all children have the right to a violence-free childhood. I really would. How can anyone state that it is okay to beat a child and not an adult? They are people, too. 

What was used in argument (as nothing else could possible work, right?): religion. People using religion to justify evil...perhaps that is the single most strong factor in the fact that more and more people are turning to atheism. I respect the rights of all people to practice peaceful religions. If you start to use religion to justify beating children or blowing up buildings, we have a serious problem. 

So, my morning was just spoiled by such sickness. Memo from God: stop committing evil in my name. You people got it all wrong.

Otherwise, my day is going well. What with soup in a bread bowl in a cafe and waking up from such unusual dreams.

I dreamed that I was a character in a novel that I was writing. I was physically a living character within the novel with full awareness of the fictitious world around me, yet I was also the writer. So the world around me (and me myself) kept changing. I was a 14-year-old character. (Perhaps because I am reading "The Probable Future" by Alice Hoffman, which has a 13-year-old as one of the main characters.) Better yet, it was Shelley Long who was narrating the novel in my dream as I was living it and writing it simultaneously. Trippy dream! 

Then, I woke up briefly and went back to sleep with reruns of "The Golden Girls" playing on my television. I then dreamed that I was writing an episode, and it came to life as I rewrote it. I woke up, and a similar episode was playing. Except, in my dream, I'd given it serious revisions and made it all about Sophia.