Dorthy told me to start blogging about my dreams, and, as you may have guessed, I thought it was a good idea, though I decided to put a little spin on it.

Dorthy and I have been friends since we were children. She’s my only childhood friend, and I love her to death.

We were in the same kindergarten class and met on the first day.

Our elementary school had two kindergarten classes, and the children were separated based on each child’s abilities.

The first day of school lasted only an hour and a half, and our teacher wanted us—the students—to get to know each other, as many teachers love to do on the first day—and sometimes week—of school.

Our “job” that day was to get to know the person to our right, and to my right was Dorthy.  She had this wide-eyed look on her face and round, gold glasses.  I don’t remember what she was wearing, but I remember I thought we would be best friends for life.  If you were to ask Dorthy, on the other hand, she would say that she had no idea we would be best friends because she thought I was annoying at first. She always had a smile that lit up her face whenever she said that, though.

I don’t remember what we talked about, but I remember our conversation was fun. It felt like we’d known each other since birth, and I loved it.

The day Dorthy suggested I should start blogging my dreams was a cool yet sunny Saturday afternoon.

Dorthy was over at my place, something we made sure to do more often after we graduated secondary school because we knew we wouldn’t have much time together anymore.

She was in the living room, preparing the flat-screen television for us to watch another season of The Stars Between Us, and I was in the kitchen, taking two bags of chips from the cupboard.

When I first moved in, I painted the walls of my living room light grey, and my sofas were black, providing a unique touch, something Dorthy commented on when she saw my place for the first time.

“Hey,” Dorthy said as I approached the living room with a chip bag in each hand.  “What’s in this?”  She stood near the matte black coffee table, holding a light blue notebook.

“It’s my dream journal,” I said, handing her a bag of classic chips.

She took the bag with a “Thanks” and sat, setting the notebook on the coffee table.

“Why have you been keeping a dream journal?” she asked as I sat on the sofa opposite her.

The television was showing a black screen, most likely the start screen of the show.

“For my dreams,” I said, laughing as I opened the chip bag.

“What type of dreams have you been having?”  She frowned.

I sighed.  “It’s a long story.”

“It’s a good thing we got time.”  Dorthy chuckled.

“True, true,” I said as I took a deep breath.  “The first dream I had was of a boy who seemed between five and ten years old.  He got kidnapped in broad daylight from the front yard of his house.  Then, two weeks later, he was found dead in an abandoned house across from where he was living.”  I let out a long breath.  “That’s the summary of the dream.”  I paused.  “Everything felt so… real.”  I paused again.  “And then I saw it–my dream–on the news.  Every single detail of it.”

“Freaky.”

I snorted.  “You can say that again.”  I took in a breath.  “I tried to ignore it.  But then I had another vivid dream, and then another, and then another.  Dorthy, I have these dreams whenever I take a nap and whenever I sleep.  When I wake up, I’m exhausted, like I haven’t slept at all.”  I sighed.  “At some point, I decided to write down the dreams in its dedicated notebook.”  I pointed to the notebook Dorthy still had with her.  “Sometimes, the dreams I had are in the news or somewhere else online.”

“Do you know why you’re getting all these dreams?”

I chuckled.  “Girl, how am I supposed to know?”

She smiled a little.  “It’s… odd you’re seeing these things before they’re happening or as they’re happening.”

“It’s so odd.  I don’t know why it’s happening to me, and why me,” I said, “But what I do know is that I don’t want them.  I want to sleep peacefully again.”

“And it just started to happen all of a sudden?”

I nodded.  “I woke up in a cold sweat and everything.”

Dorthy bit the inside of her cheek.  “They sound more than just ‘dreams’ to me.” She frowned a little. “You said you saw everything in your first dream on the news, right?”

I nodded.

“And the same goes for your other dreams, too, right?”

I nodded again. “At least with the ones I’ve actually seen on the news,” I thought, though I didn’t go into the semantics.

She braced back, staring at me like she was trying to analyze me.

“Yeah, I don’t think they’re classified as ‘dreams,’” Dorthy finally said.  “Maybe they’re more like…” She looked around the room.  “I don’t know.  I think they’re more than just dreams.”

“I don’t know if I particularly like the sounds of that.”  I laughed out of nervousness.

I didn’t know what to think or say, so I didn’t say anything.

After a couple of minutes of lingering silence, Dorthy asked, “Can I read?” and picked up the notebook from the coffee table.

I nodded, and she opened the notebook and read.

After Dorthy read a couple of my dreams, she said, “You should create a blog and post your dreams.”  She closed my notebook, handed it to me, and I took it.  “I think the dreams–and your writing–are interesting, and I think people would be interested in that.  And who knows?  You may get to interact with interesting people.”

I tilted my head as I bit my bottom lip.  “I like the sounds of that.”  I sighed.  “I’ll think more about it.  Now, let’s watch the show.”

The next day, I woke up later than I would have liked, but I started working on a new outfit piece for my business because I was already behind schedule.  However, on my lunch break, I decided to go to a nearby café.  When I was at the café, waiting for my iced coffee, I thought about what Dorthy said yesterday about starting a blog.

“Dorthy wouldn’t lie about what she thinks, especially about me and my life.  And maybe it would help me diversify my life a little,” I thought as I stood in line while biting my lips.  “And, for some reason, I don’t want to only talk about the dreams.  Plus, what if I stop getting those kinds of dreams anyway?”

I got my coffee and walked home, and as I did, I thought, “Maybe I could blog about my life but with a focus on those dreams.”  I took a right at the bottom of the road.  “But what if people don’t want to read about my life?” I sighed.  “I guess I could say the same if I were to only post about my dreams.”

Now, here we are, and I realized I hadn’t even introduced myself yet.  How rude.

I am Sarah-Jane Michaels. I have an associate’s degree in fashion design and a fashion design business called SJ’s Stitches.  I love SJ’s Stitches with all my heart and soul.  I know I’m a little dramatic, but Dorthy constantly says I’m dramatic, and I always tell her, “I know you love me even more because of it.”

I’ll post another blog post about my business.

Anyway.

I don’t believe I have a fascinating life.  I think the most interesting thing about me is my business–and my dreams.  I do think I have interesting things to say, though.

Most days, I’m at home, working on SJ’s Stitches, which I love, though sometimes, when I look online and watch what other people do, it feels like I should be doing something more.  Most of the time, it happens when I’m trying to sleep at night, though that was before I started to get these dreams.

It feels like my entire life is changing because of these dreams, and it almost feels like I’m becoming a different person.  It feels like I’m stuck and seeing my life in the third person with no way of communicating to myself because, for one reason or another, I cannot hear my voice.  I’m learning to live with it because I have to, though I don’t think that would be a different conversation for a different day.

That said, thank you for reading the first post of The Landline Collective.