A Writing Dream

I fell asleep in bed thinking about a scene. Those thoughts immediately transported me to a dream where I was at a desk, trying to type. I then rose from the desk and walked to the other room to get coffee. A noise distracted me, drawing me down a hall. The hall was considerably darker than the rest of the house, skinning me with edginess. I was questioning who was in there and whether it was safe to go down the hall. I looked for a suitable weapon but went on without anything.

Coming out from the other end of the hall, I was outside. Across the way, I saw three people. Two confronting a third. I took a few steps toward them, then halted with the realization that I was witnessing the scene I’d been writing. I moved closer to them, trying to hear, and then shifted. Suddenly, I was more akin to a camera, focusing on one person, moving in on close-ups, then flashing to another as the conversation bounced around.

At that point, I started awake. After parting my eyelids to anchor myself, I snuggled deeper. Darkness enveloped the bedroom. I was warm under the covers. My trusty sleepfloof, Tucker, drew up and rubbed his head on my exposed hand. I kept lethargically petting him, floating in and out of sleep and the dream, writing in my head, and writing in the dream. When I awoke this morning and remembered that, the sheer level of writing overwhelmed me. I’d completed that scene and go on to three others. The effort spent me, though. Trying to type it up, it all burst in on me. I typed fast, hanging on to words and moments, straining to keep up.

My brain feels overwhelmed. I need more coffee.

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