Lessons From the Kissing Booth

I keep imagining rats everywhere in the middle of the night, waking fully to find myself standing in the bathroom door staring hard at a dark corner trying to separate the rodents from the shadows. Sitting up straight in bed knowing full well that the shapes beneath my mirror are shoes and yet still believing that they are rats. It amazes me how each time I think my brain has showed me all of its tricks it still manages to pull something new out of its hat.

The sources all say that rats in dreams mean nothing good, that they mean poverty and illness and untrustworthy associates, but the thing is that my dreams are full of dancing. It's only my sleepwalking that teems with rats. Which is probably worse.

I know where the rats are from, but that doesn't seem to be making them go away. The world is full of dangers even where you don't expect them.

I don't usually sleepwalk on vacation, though, so it's lucky that we're planning another trip to our island again, although this trip has gotten much bigger than I would prefer--not only my urban family, but people on the outskirts. This is a distinction only I seem to make ("INFJs are selective about their friends"), but I'm really uncomfortable with the new direction, not being one who believes that more actually equals merrier when so many strong personalities are trapped on an island together. In the end, though, it is neither my plan nor my call, and so I am using it as an opportunity to practice things I am not good at--letting other people make all of the decisions, not investing in the plan. It feels like I'm losing something important, but I'm hoping that if I'm patient enough I will gain something equally valuable. Orcas is made of magic, so anything is possible.