The Broken Window to the Soul

I hear dreams are the window to the soul. Or is that the eyes?

Well, for the purpose of this post, we're saying dreams. Dreams should be--they reflect emotions, events, people--everything I'm stressing about or neglecting.

As of late, I've been stressing over: boy, that awful essay, my missing peas, my procrastination, money.

The dream I had last night:

I'm sitting on a brick wall at the end of a cliff, overlooking the forest and apparently town down below. Boy is to my right, my mom is to my left. I lean over to kiss said boy, but then realize that my mom might notice (I would imagine so since we're in the middle of nowhere, sitting next to one another.) so instead, I scream out "The Great Wall of China!" My mom is like "I know you're trying to hide it with the Great Wall, but it's not going to work," and then I start to cry or something. Then my mom is suddenly my English prof and she's like "he's a young man" and I can't argue because I'm sitting next to boy and I'm like "oh, he is." I don't remember much after this, just being frustrated with myself for not realizing that boy is young (even though he's not the guy in the poem, obviously.). I woke up shortly after with a huge craving for peas.

If that's not a window, I don't know what is. Well, besides actual windows. I suppose those are windows too.

--Jam