I usually remember my dreams but I woke restless today, sure that I had settled something critical in my sleep, feeling the inspiration slip away.  I kept my eyes closed despite the dizziness which plagues me in the early morning and only clears when I fix on something overhead, solid, unmoving.   Nothing doing:  whatever brilliant realization had risen from the quagmire of my old and tired brain vanished in the wispy light of dawn.

Coffee cleared the fog a bit though not enough to withstand the rattle of the radio.  So here I sit, in silence, wishing for another chance; an hour or two in dreams, to find the answer, to even narrow the problem.  I feel my shoulders ache; a gnarly bit of tension hugging the back of my neck.  With my eyes closed, I will the brilliant calculations to creep back and reveal themselves.  If anything my mind empties further.  The mug of coffee grows cold.  I surrender, finally, and go upstairs to shower.

It’s the twenty-eighth day of the thirty-third month of My [Endless] Year Without Complaining.  I’m no closer to enlightenment, but life continues.



One thought on “Dreams

  1. Pat

    I keep a little notebook by the bed to write down dreams as soon as I wake sometimes. Perhaps your dream was of going west!


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