Lou got me up early and it was a relief.
“I’m tired of dreaming,” I told him. “Let’s go out.”
It was a miserable, wet day and the sun had already decided to shun the remainder. That was also fine, also a great relief. Such a pitiless contrast between the dream and waking world was exactly what I needed to ground myself in the here and now. The real world?
I suppose I could describe the dreams; these dreams I’ve been having over the past couple of days (and days). And I do remember them.
But no.
The imagery is still too sharp, the flashes of dream reality too visceral. I feel more than I remember, but that’s more than enough.
Why this? Why now? That is not for me to say.
Let me just say: the subconscious is a lewd, lewd place.
Also: I am so over cowboy hats.
