the vast ocean of banality quivering just below the surface.
I'm remembering my dreams these days. This is uncommon. I usually don't remember any of them, a fact I have often lamented, as I, like everyone else, find my own dreams fascinating. Most of the time, anyway.
I wonder now if I've hit critical mass. Maybe my unconscious only has so much to tell me, and if I remember my dreams every single night, maybe I run out.
Like last night. Last night I was playing basketball with a pistachio nut.
Not a giant pistachio nut. A normal sized nut. It didn't bounce, and I spent most of the time, as I recall, thinking, "this is stupid. This isn't a basketball. This is a pistachio nut."
This I already knew.
I'm annoyed with my mind. I feel like these ones I could just as soon forget.
I wonder now if I've hit critical mass. Maybe my unconscious only has so much to tell me, and if I remember my dreams every single night, maybe I run out.
Like last night. Last night I was playing basketball with a pistachio nut.
Not a giant pistachio nut. A normal sized nut. It didn't bounce, and I spent most of the time, as I recall, thinking, "this is stupid. This isn't a basketball. This is a pistachio nut."
This I already knew.
I'm annoyed with my mind. I feel like these ones I could just as soon forget.