Dream Exercises

July 23

9:10 a.m.

This might be a very piecemeal entry; I've got another busy day at work ahead of me.

Last night was an unmitigated failure, as far as writing goes. I didn't revise or write a word. I started to do some stuff related to the business-side of my writing, but I didn't finish any of it. The editor at Flesh and Blood decided to reject the story he was holding. Ah, well. They can't all be acceptances. I'd planned on doing some long-overdue crits, but I couldn't get into the proper critical mindset... I think I'll take the stories to Pergolesi tonight and re-read them and make notes.

Mondays are hard; the post-Heather letdown really does me in, and it's difficult to get motivated. I had beer with D. in the evening, too, which always tends to scuttle my productivity for some reason. I had a nice chat with him though, and ate a piece of apple pie (the first time I've ever purchased food at Pergolesi, I think), and in general had a good time. The lovely barista was flirting with me, I think. I'm not much good at determining such things.

I didn't have the enthusiasm to do much of anything last night; I didn't even read. I had a long talk with Heather, which helped... and after this week, there are no more post-Heather letdowns, because she'll be there with me every glorious day.

I finally watched Traffic, which Scott rented. I enjoyed it. I could make some comments about drugs in America, but I've got too much day-job stuff in front of me to get into such a long babble. Maybe later, if I think about it.

Hmm. That's really about all I have to report. I went to bed early. I had insanely vivid dreams, one of which was very sexual in nature. It was pretty funny, though-- at one point in the dream I turned to the woman I was with and said "This is wonderful. It's like a dream." And just at that moment my alarm clock went off, waking me up. Heh.

In another dream I was lost in a 100-story building (or a 10-to-the-second-power-story building, as it was always referred to in the dream). I kept riding the elevator and going up and down stairs, finding all sorts of strange places (including a scary-intense NASCAR store run by some very suave black guys). I was looking for Heather. I knew she was somewhere, on one of the floors, but I couldn't find her.

I leave the interpretation of that last dream as an exercise for the reader.