“He felt that his whole life was some kind of dream and he sometimes wondered whose it was and whether they were enjoying it.”
― Douglas Adams, The Hitchhiker’s Guide to the Galaxy
I’m a dreamer of things both big and small. I have dreams about reality, but this isn’t about those dreams. This is about the dreams that dance through my head in the dark; the shadows that flit between synapses in the night.
I’m not sure if dreams are windows to the soul or visions of desires or fears. I often find inspiration in them, even though most of the time they don’t seem to have any real connections to anything legitimate in my waking life – though maybe they would if I tripped on acid once a week.
As an enterprising, semi-reputable young lass with absolutely no problem embarrassing herself for her craft, I’ve decided to share my dreams with all of you, however few of you there are. I’m considering them a writing exercise, and would like to formally welcome you to my nightmares.
At this point you may be wondering just what you’ve gotten yourself into. You have no obligations here, this is all on me. My dreams, my writing, my sharing of the innermost tantrums of my psyche with complete strangers. It should make for an entertaining read, if nothing else. Just remember that before you call the men in the white coats to come and get me.
Fair warning: You may want to have a cocktail before imbibing in these reconstructions, they can be… strange (though I hope you expect nothing less of me).
As always, stay shiny and write on.