Dreams, Dreams, and More Dreams

  • I write down all of the dreams I can remember. Sometimes, I wake in the middle of the night to write them–those are the best. Misspelled words, rough drawings, and incomplete sentences, yet totally raw and full of emotion. Sometimes, my dreams seem pretty meaningless or mundane. But as I examine them and dig into the representations my subconscious makes, I’m left speechless and stunned. Yes. Me. Without words. That’s what happened with my dream last night. I don’t know if I’ll share or not.
  • I’m waiting for the results of my blood tests. I could have either thyroid disease or diabetes. Or neither. I’ll find out sometime today.
  • Chuck is sleeping on my pile of clean clothes. Damn dog. Damn laundry that never ends.
  • I’m in a “get rid of” mood. I want to scour my house for unnessary items and get rid of them.
  • I’m was so totally angry in my dream last night and I have dream hangover. I still feel angry.

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3 thoughts on “Dreams, Dreams, and More Dreams”

  1. I hate dream hangovers. Unless they’re from lovely dreams. But seeing as how I have more nightmares than lovely dreams, I hate dream hangovers. Sometimes (often) poor Chris gets the brunt of it. I have to remind myself that I’m not actually mad at him.
    Still, I love dreams, even if they’re not always good. At least they’re entertaining. I love entertaining myself.
    And if I ever decide to take up SF, I’ve got a doozy of a story from a dream I had about two years ago. Surprisingly, a lot of my dreams are coherent and have full plots.

  2. Michelle
    I just realized that means I can’t ask you to edit my story for coach’s midnight diner cuz you, ya know, are one of the editors for coach’s midnight diner.
    Gina H


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