I woke up more than once last night. I think I somehow sleep on my side without tossing - or something like that - and I get sore muscles that cause me to awake. Or I toss around and get sore muscles that cause me to awake. Doesn't compute, does it? One of those wake ups was in the middle of a bad dream. Dreams, of course, are not only about images, but feelings; you see them and you feel them and I was not feeling so very happy in this particular dream, caught - this is what I think it was about, anyway - caught in a job where I was clearly becoming marginalized, trying to flee whatever this office represented and get back home, except I kept failing and I wasn't sure where home was anymore anyway.

Anymore anyway?

Anymore anyway. Some statement about the work and the life and the growing old(er), maybe; working in a weird disjointed building doing something, it wasn't about the actual work being done, it was about escape. The dream was about escape. Wow.

Followed by an excellent day. Hey. No sore muscles, no vertigo, the sun overhead, the air crisp - you needed more than a light weight jacket - the work going at four hundred miles an hour (four hundred, mind you, not the usual eight hundred, but four hundred is more than fast on my highway).

Why did I wake up in the middle of the night last night wrestling with a dream? A new trend? Something to add to the baggage? Am I in line for more of these semi-awake before you get your head together periods when the subconscious is still in control and you can't quite shake away the dread for purposes of instruction? I'd better write them down. You don't write them down, you won't remember them. If I'm going to go through the stress of a bad dream I'm going to use it here in the journal. There was more to the dream I described than I described and if I'd taken notes I'd have framed it better. Or are these priorities weird? Nah. Writers do it all the time. I've heard it on NPR. Grist for the mill.