Dreams and Postmodernism

It is 5 am. I can't sleep. I am as wide awake as the Pacific Ocean.

I had a dream that I lived in an ecclectic house filled with large over-sized house plants. Something was being stolen. A crime was being committed. I was never sure if I was the thief or the victim. Maybe both?
Ah the enigmatic world of dreams....

Time for the postmodern activity of blogging about blogging: My blog at first was an outlet for my creative non-fiction-esque (it is odd to have two hyphens in a word) writing. Now it serves as a journal of sorts. I was never able to journal before. Why would I write for my own reading pleasure? What is the purpose of writing without an audience? I think blogging functions on the perfect journal because there IS an audience but they are anonymous. This was an effort to justify this middle of the night post.

I think my title for this post is better than the actually post itself.
DAMN!