All of the survival necessities my parents taught me when I was younger - don't talk to strangers; if someone looks upset, don't try to find out what is going on; if someone is wearing a medical mask and looks ill, don't get close enough to have a conversation - well, I don't follow those so religiously anymore.
I'm not putting myself in any dangerous situations. I just tend to approach people when maybe before I would have given them a wide berth. Not anyone who looks like they would hold me hostage for weekend fun, but anything that looks a little bit out of the ordinary.
I just can't help it. Anything that looks a little bit strange makes me think, "How can I make a story out of this." Anything strange.
Including my dreams.
Yeah, even the limited sleep I can get while taking this class, is consumed by this class.
All the strange things that happen in my dreams - which is almost all of it - some annoying voice starts brainstorming interview questions and fresh angles.
That time some family had made their home in the middle of a busy intersection's median, dream me started interviewing them and finding out the mother rarely had more than phone contact with her husband because he never stopped working.
Dream me sits in on underground, subcultural meetings that I have no personal interest in except for finding out what the "real" story is before I pitch it.
I'm hoping this is just a temporary thing. You know, like those dreams you're supposed to have when you're just starting to become fluent in a language because you're using it all the time.
I'd like a little bit of passed out, completely non-thinking sleep.