Piccadilly Circus

      I woke up with tears streaming down my face as a result of this dream.

     I was in London with my best friend, showing her around the places that I had been before, "Here's where I creeped a photo with that cute guy in the background!" "I know," she laughed, "I've seen that photo a dozen times before."
     We continued walking around the Piccadilly Circus area when we came across a cute looking shop to wander around. Kasey stayed at the front of the store and, as I made my way to the back, two children; one boy and one girl, grabbed my hands and took me to a Harry Potter display. "Please tell us the story of this chest," the little girl pleaded with a soft, British accent. I looked down at the kids and smiled in agreement.
     I began to pull things out of the chest one by one, describing what I imagined would have taken place with said items, it had been so long since I read the Harry Potter series. The children laughed and the little boy grabbed my hands and chuckled, "No, no, you're telling it all wrong."
     Slowly, the accents faded and the two children became Jasmine and Justin, my ex-boyfriend's younger siblings. It felt so warm and natural to be around them again, even after all this time had passed. Everything seemed to be going over so smoothly, even Joey's son was sitting with us.
     Joey's mom started walking over to the kids and I; I was smiling, expecting her to say hello and give me a hug, but instead she began yelling at me about how I needed to leave Joey and his family alone, that I was no longer a part of it and that I should be nowhere near Joey and Savannah's little boy. I was baffled beyond belief---Joey's mom had never yelled at me, even after Joey and I had ended our relationship. She had always been like a mom to me, a mom that I never felt like I really had. For her to come to me with such negativity was unheard of until now.
     I began crying and I could see the sadness forming on Jasmine's face through my tears. This isn't how I wanted my vacation to go. Where was my best friend? Why was I getting yelled at out of coincidence? I wasn't stalking Joey and his family, it's a small world...
     Savannah came to me with even worse words than Joey's mother. My head was spinning and I couldn't comprehend what was happening. There I was, the world a blur behind watery eyes as I sat against the Harry Potter display in the fetal position.

     I woke up with tears streaming down my face as a result of this dream. 

On keeping thoughts

     I wonder a lot about what makes a thought worthy of being recorded. Must the thought be provoking or intelligent? Need it be substantial or complex? Or does the mere figment of a thought deserve to be written/typed for the sake of having thought?

     This evening at work, I was deep cleaning my section when a series of simple thoughts evolved into a wild scene in my mind. It started with me questioning my course of actions based on the way the customers might perceive them; I was cleaning my table tops, as well as the chairs, booth seats, light fixtures, and window sills, all with the same towel. Some, probably most, customers would see this as an abomination because, well, you don't wipe your kitchen counter with the toilet paper you used to wipe your ass. (I hope that was an accurate enough explanation, even if it exaggerates a bit...)
     As I'm cleaning, I'm thinking that I can get away with using the same towel by giving off the impression that I'm going into another room to get a new one. No one would ever know, at least I think they wouldn't.
     I am, physically, wiping my table but in my mind I'm walking from the passbar back into my section, when a man mutters, "that's the same towel." I look over my left shoulder and see the man in an anime-esque glaring-at-the-ground-and-darkness-covers-his-eyes postion. "That's... the same towel," he repeats, a little louder. I turn so that our bodies are facing each other, "excuse me sir?"
     "THAT'S THE SAME TOWEL!!!" He yells, pointing at me with his right index finger and his left hand in a fist at his waist. The scene behind him is yellow lines raining over a white background, his eyes are solid white and, of course, anime-esque. The towel drops from my hands onto the floor and the man begins again, "Did you think that we wouldn't know? DID YOU THINK THAT WE WERE ALL FOOLS? WE'RE NOT FOOLS!!!"
     The screen in my mind pans out into a sky overview of the section I was working in. Each person is just a solid blob of yellow until the "fools" are revealed by an awkward sounding short gong and being stamped with the word "FOOL" in large red letters. This starts slowly and progressively gets faster until everyone in the room, except this man and myself, are labeled "FOOL."
     My imagination ceases and I return to the chore of cleaning tables and the like. I look around briefly, completely aware that I have added about one-hundred people into the room simply because I was thinking about a towel.

     I wrote a rough outline of this because I didn't want to forget it. But typically, I don't write down things I really want to remember. So that brings us back to our initial question, what makes a thought worthy of recording? What makes you record one thought over another? And think about the medium you are using to convey said thoughts, why do you chose Twitter over a pen and notepad? Why a word document over a blogging website?

What makes a thought worth recording...?