Dreamin

Some days are simply not meant to be productive…and for me, today was without a doubt one of them. Out of the 24 hours that exist within the day, I slept for at least 19 of them. Am I complaining? oh no..not in the least…not only did I get to have some simply mahhhhvelous dreams, but I also may have almost let my body catch up on the sleep that it hasn’t really been getting for the past two months. And considering that my next few weekends are going to be jam packed with fun (or late nights, depending on how you look at it), I’m taking my sleep where I can catch it. Now…since I have been sleep for most of the normal daylight hours, I don’t (as far as I can remember) have a whole lot to talk about. I would like to analyze one of the dreams I had (seems appropriate no??) but I can’t remember any of them…. or at least not enough of any of them to analyze. However, previous dreams of mine have given me fodder for quite a few stories…. the Love & Hair story I wrote about earlier was partially from a dream, and partially from my own hopes of having somebody else love me & my hair as much as I love myself . (Yeah.. my hair can be a separate part of me sometimes.)
Anyhow, the story that I am working on now (with the help of a certain manic editor/writer from Baltimore…: ) ...) came from a dream. The story itself is a few hours in the life of two women who are ‘trapped’ in a Muslim cult, and suffering from severe abuse (on all levels). Most of the important details of the story came from the dream (which was really more of a nightmare), and while the underlying premise of it was drawn from my earlier life, I am not sure where the abuse came from. Perhaps it was a reflection of the bitterness that I have towards the time while I was ‘muslim’ or perhaps it is a reflection of the verbal/emotional abuse made physical in the dream. I’m not sure…. but I know that the story will always be more to me than it will be to anyone else. Even though it isn’t really graphic (all of the abuse referred to is in the past, and is shown by either bruises or memories) it still gives me a shiver each time I read it, and I don’t think that it has that same kind of visceral shock to others. I am considering publishing it… but I don’t know where it would fit. IT really isn’t a happy story, in any way…considering that it ends with an act of mass murder, its really quite an unhappy & violent story…but I know that it has a place somewhere.
Hmm… what else have I gotten from dreams? The baby’s name/sex came from a dream… some of my sweetest memories are formed in dreams of things wished for and never achieved.
(blagh. sucky entry….but ah well...I’m not really awake)

Song of the Night: Everything Must Change (the Oleta Adams version)

Stay Jazzed.