It’s hard to be meaningful in a word processor.
I can sit and think and come up with words and phrases that I think are absolutely beautiful, but the moment I lay my hands upon a keyboard it all evaporates. I’m not good with words - I can arrange them well enough, but I can never really say what I want to say.
Dreams fascinate me; not the events of dreams, but the concept of dreaming itself. I take it on faith that I must dream, but I can’t recall ever remembering one. Instead I occasionally have sleepy imaginings, typically just as I’m falling to sleep or as I’m trying to get up in the morning. It’s difficult to explain them. They bear a certain resemblance to what I’ve read of lucid dreams, but they still have a rigid enough adherence to the laws of reality that I don’t think they’re dreaming in the conventional sense. But then again, I’m not an expert.
I bring the subject up because I had one of these near-dreams last night that disturbed me greatly, and I feel like I need to get the damn thing out of my system before I choke on it. Is that what diaries/journals/logs are for? I hope so.
The dream was essentially of the death of my Mother. It’s a difficult concept for me to wrap my head around; I’ve always been something of a “momma’s boy”. I know intellectually that everyone dies, but I still can’t accept the possibility of a world without the people I love. Words are failing me, so I’ll resort to a witless analogy:
I know that my arms are attached to my torso by tendons and muscles.
I know that if my arms were pulled with sufficient force in opposite directions, this attachment would come to an unceremonious conclusion.
That being said, I still believe that there’s no way that could ever happen.
It’s not often that I know I’m being stupid but I can’t stop.