Typically, I don’t remember my dreams. They’ve usually dissipated from my mind by the time I’m at the stage of my morning routine where I’m brushing my teeth, and I’m able to go on with my day as if they never happened. So suffice to say, it’s somewhat notable (read: something to write about on a slow day) when I actually do manage to remember any of them.
Ironically, given my propensity to take shots at Atlanta’s public transit system, MARTA, it’s kind of fitting that for whatever horrendous reason it may be in my unconscious, I’ve had some recent negatively-connoted dreams where MARTA references were present. In a way, it’s kind of funny, but at the same time I’d rather frankly not have MARTA on the mind when I’m sleeping; I’d rather be dreaming of like Taylor Swift or Karlie Kloss (or both).
But for the sake of the possibility of entertaining, and since I don’t often remember my dreams too often anyway, I figured I’d write about them. Thinking back to them, they are kind of funny in sadistic or ironic ways.
