OCTOBER!!!!!!
A. It’s October! (see headline) This is, arguably, the best month in all the world (and by world, of course, I mean year).
2. Another weird dream. I was in a different country. It was hot and dry with brush and dirt—no grass, few trees, I was staying in a barracks of some sort; long rooms with bunk beds, mess hall for meals. There were other young people there with me. We had signed up for volunteer work. We left our homes an dcame here expecting to help people. The man who ran our camp was cruel and mad with power. He was holidng us hostage. There were not any volunteering tasks. We were just stuck there. During the dream nothing terrible was happening but there was a sense that something awful was coming. We knew we had to escape now or we wouldn’t be alive much longer. Most of the dream I was making preparations for a couple of us to escape: checking security, planning diversions, outlining the best routes. I woke up when we had escaped the immediate area but before we had reached complete safety.
I really don’t know where these things come from.
I often remember things I dream between snooze buttons. This morning is was Jack Nicholson’s Joker and he had trapped me and 4 other women in an elevator and was killing some and yelling at others but letting them run. Also, a man posing as a doctor. He had taken up residence in one corner of a hospital and no one who worked there seemed to notice he wasn’t a real doctor. He was ordering horrible, painful and unnecessary treatments for everyone unfortunate enough to fall into his clutches.
I have to wonder, where do these ideas come from? Not that wondering what dreams mean is a new thing for me. I have a lot of dreams where really awful thins happen. What is causing them? Am I concerned about something subconsciously that has no other time to vent than at night? Am I having nice dreams, too? Or just the awful ones? Maybe the awful ones are just more memorable and so it seems as if I’m only having bad dreams. I don’t know but here’s hoping for more remembered good dreams.
My muscles are tired, lazy and weak. They groan at the thought of pen and paper. As with many things, the thought is worse than the action. Once pen hits paper it seems as easy to keep writing as to stop.
Rain, rain and more rain. You would think that maybe this was the NW instead of the Mw. When rain comes like this the initial desire to stay in bed and listen to the rain on the windowpane lessens. It must. There are things to do! One cannot lie about all day. And humans are so adaptable. Umbrellas, gollashes, water-repelling jackets. At work the half-mast umbrellas will stand by their owners cubicles like hunting trophies. Pink, ptterned or standard black. Some small and collapsable, some tall and sturdy like walking sticks. My umbrella has a cameo pattern. I always feel as if it misrepresents me. I got it for free. It is the nicest umbrella I have ever owned. I could use it in a monsoon.
Until Monday!
And so I begin …
It is important to practice. I don’t always get a chance to do it everyday after work. And in the morning before—well, I’m just not willing. But I have this commute; at least 30 minutes, 2 times a day, 5 days a week. The perfect opportunity to breathe and just contemplate and write. Maybe I will generate ideas. Maybe I will work through problems. The point is just to put the pen to the paper and practice. Exercise the muscles involved. See where it takes me. In my notebook, the words my not always be legible (Or spelled correctly) but that’s okay.
I’m starting on a Wednesday. I didn’t plan it that way. Today was the first day I remembered both a pen and my notebook. I’m glad it was a wednesday, though. In media res, as it were. The middle of things; the week, novel revisions, my 20’s. One big middle. The beginning is a tiny dot in one direction and the end a tiny dot in the other. There are so many options here in the middle. Options mean choices. Options sound good but choices seem daunting. What if the choices I make are wrong?
Ah, well. Until tomorrow.
