(no subject)
Well the moon is broken
and the sky is cracked
Come on up to the house
the only things that you can see
is all that you lack
come on up to the house
(the above totally unrelated, but it's playing and I love the song)
As usually happens with me, I go in phases of having really, really vivid dreams. Ones that I could write whole short stories on when I wake up. It's neat on one hand, but on the other I almost feel more tired. And if I could use them for stories, it'd be great--if only everyone would be so interested in a story about how my dad and Ken took a trip to Antarctica to look at some ancient ruins to return to the Square where they displayed the photos on the big screen and had a trivia contest. Or how I saved bunnies and one pony from a barn fire only to raise them and several bunny/cats my mother had collected and then, suddenly, realizing I was missing a class I was re-taking at my old high school and wondering if they'd accept the excuse 'a barn was on fire' as acceptable reasoning for missing so many classes I didn't know who my teacher was. I had to beat up some kids in the halls, too, for making fun of my inability to go to class....and then I got mad at Matt for growing a mullet.
That was the past two nights, and those were only the two longer ones of the many. I'm going a little nuts. Matt, who doesn't dream except on very rare occasions, is getting a little tired of me waking up and going "holy crap guess what I had a dream about?!" and I'm starting to feel guilty for waking up in complete terror several times in a night since the chances of it being a dream-to-nightmare or nightmare-to-dream is about fifty fifty. Like the one where I had a big struggle with a guy trying to stab me and then hoping I could play dead long enough before I was actually dead from blood loss.
Part of it is, no doubt, the odd schedule I'm on. A week's vacation followed by the start of a new, longer-houred schedule can't be doing wonders.
All of this to say, I know my subconscious can think of some pretty neat and crazy stuff. Why can't I do it waking anymore? I used to write poetry, draw a little, even write stories and short stories. Some of the poetry I actually liked. I tried that tonight for the first time in many months, and there's nothing there. I am a bit at a loss that my creative side is totally dormant now. Not entirely sure how to dredge it up again. I don't even have my guitar here in Florida and, while I get the urge to play something or anything, it goes away after a minute. It's weird. I'm wondering if my creativity was spawned by having things to worry about. Now that I don't worry nearly as much, it seems to have gone to sleep? Talk about nightmares....
and the sky is cracked
Come on up to the house
the only things that you can see
is all that you lack
come on up to the house
(the above totally unrelated, but it's playing and I love the song)
As usually happens with me, I go in phases of having really, really vivid dreams. Ones that I could write whole short stories on when I wake up. It's neat on one hand, but on the other I almost feel more tired. And if I could use them for stories, it'd be great--if only everyone would be so interested in a story about how my dad and Ken took a trip to Antarctica to look at some ancient ruins to return to the Square where they displayed the photos on the big screen and had a trivia contest. Or how I saved bunnies and one pony from a barn fire only to raise them and several bunny/cats my mother had collected and then, suddenly, realizing I was missing a class I was re-taking at my old high school and wondering if they'd accept the excuse 'a barn was on fire' as acceptable reasoning for missing so many classes I didn't know who my teacher was. I had to beat up some kids in the halls, too, for making fun of my inability to go to class....and then I got mad at Matt for growing a mullet.
That was the past two nights, and those were only the two longer ones of the many. I'm going a little nuts. Matt, who doesn't dream except on very rare occasions, is getting a little tired of me waking up and going "holy crap guess what I had a dream about?!" and I'm starting to feel guilty for waking up in complete terror several times in a night since the chances of it being a dream-to-nightmare or nightmare-to-dream is about fifty fifty. Like the one where I had a big struggle with a guy trying to stab me and then hoping I could play dead long enough before I was actually dead from blood loss.
Part of it is, no doubt, the odd schedule I'm on. A week's vacation followed by the start of a new, longer-houred schedule can't be doing wonders.
All of this to say, I know my subconscious can think of some pretty neat and crazy stuff. Why can't I do it waking anymore? I used to write poetry, draw a little, even write stories and short stories. Some of the poetry I actually liked. I tried that tonight for the first time in many months, and there's nothing there. I am a bit at a loss that my creative side is totally dormant now. Not entirely sure how to dredge it up again. I don't even have my guitar here in Florida and, while I get the urge to play something or anything, it goes away after a minute. It's weird. I'm wondering if my creativity was spawned by having things to worry about. Now that I don't worry nearly as much, it seems to have gone to sleep? Talk about nightmares....