This is the mixed media blog of James Foreman. He writes things.

Favorite topics include art, history, modern life, pop culture, dating, sex, atheism, science, stories, whimsy, magic, writing and self-deprecation.

You can read a fiction story he wrote in the bestselling Machine of Death anthology, a true story he wrote in the Pittsburgh Post-Gazette or a funny thing he wrote for McSweeney's.

He's working on a novel. It's going okay.

A Sunday Dream Journal

One of the great things about being me is that I dream almost every night. Dreams are like little vacations that happen every night. Like real vacations some of them go bad and make me feel icky in the morning. Most of the time, my dreams defy the dictionary definition of dream and vacation - they’re not particularly good or bad, but describe a distinct narrative.

Last night was like a glimpse into a parallel universe. I had just started dating an old crush from Junior High (which was about 18 years ago) and was excited about hanging out with her at some kind of fancy movie theater which all my friends and family would be going to. I had a great seat next to her but I had to go to the bathroom and spent hours on the pot, wondering where my iPhone had gone because I needed to look up the name of the original Captain of the Enterprise, which I already knew.

I went back to my seat to find it taken by some guy and his dog and the girl I was dating was laughing at me. It sucked. I started crying and nobody cared.

I dreamed also that I could travel in time by riding a bunch of balloons to a specific part of my parents’ house and concentrating REALLY HARD, which is kind of a thing from the novel I’m working on.

But anyway, when people talk about their dreams, it’s really boring and annoying, but maybe they can offer a glimpse into what kinds of things I’m dealing with without actually digging too deeply into my own psyche or revealing potentially embarrassing details. I leave the interpretations to you, dear reader, while I drink my coffee.