This morning I woke up writing. I was half asleep with the idea that I was at my desk typing out The Dreamer. I was halfway through writing it out when I realized I was sitting on the edge of my bed attempting to find my glasses.
Once I got myself together; dressed, glasses on, and alarm shut off. I wobbled to my computer to actually write it. I don’t recall what I was dreaming about, but I knew that I had to write a letter to my dreams. I hit snooze for my first alarm. And that’s when my subconscious started writing. It was around my third time pressing snooze that I sat up. Around fourth or fifth alarm when it clicked that I wasn’t at my computer.
My sister, who was a delight and made me breakfast, watched as I sleepily poured myself a coffee with far to much honey and plopped myself in front of my computer to type out this letter.
There’s something about writing what the subconscious wants you to. I know I am missing fragments that would have made it better. There was this thing about the clouds and how the dreams would type the story onto the computer or save as a video for me to rewrite later. I can’t remember. It’s lost in that realm of sleep that stores all the hopes and wonder that is buried within my brain. I hope that the longer I write, the more I write, I might be able to unlock that hidden world.
If I only had the key.