Subconscious Mind

Some scientist claim that your subconscious mind never rests, and while you sleep it is controlling both your vital forces and you actions. For this reason, I am positive that my sub-conscious is completely, horrifically, hopelessly obnoxious.

I'm an incredibly heavy sleeper, as in there could be an EF5 tornado down the street, a velociraptor mauling a howler monkey next door, and a helicopter blasting Miley Cyrus's "Party in the USA" while landing on our roof, and chances are I would sleep comfortably through all of it. This might not seem like a huge problem until you take into account that all four of my roommates have to listen to all seven of my alarm clocks all five times I hit the snooze button before I finally drag myself out of bed.

Also, I have the unique ability of taking up an entire queen-sized mattress all by myself, whether my sister is on it or not.

Of course, this particular flaw might be acceptable if my dreams were super stellar action packed heroic sequences of Sarah saving the Flower Mound High School senior class from the Darth Vader, high five-ing her pet afro-dog, and getting the official approval of the president of the United States. Oh, and the galaxy is exploding the whole time.

Unfortunately, such is not the case.

Dream 7/20: Sarah bought groceries.

Dream 7/21: Sarah went to do laundry, and it was already finished.

Dream 7/22: Sarah was late to German class.

Dream 7/24: Sarah ate chicken.

I tried looking some of these up on a dream interpretation website, but apparently eating roasted poultry suggests an inner sense of loneliness and someone who has given up on their dream to fly. I consequently rejected that analysis and deferred to the more comforting conclusion that my mind is just an incredibly dull place that can send anyone into the deepest sleep of their life, thus explaining why I have such a hard time getting up.

Perhaps it's my dreams that make me drool like I was studying radians in Pre-cal again. I can't tell you the number of times that I've woken up in a puddle of saliva, which actually really scares me because I'm half convinced no one will want to marry me until I can kick the unsightly drooling habit.

So there you have it. Subconsciously, I am a oblivious, deaf, unmarriageable creeper whose most imaginative thought was picturing myself eating chicken. Alone.