I hate dreaming. I often go months at a time without having any of them, but then I get into a cycle where I have them non-stop and each one frustrates me more than one previous to it.
I never have dreams about world peace or magic alien circuses or something; it’s always something inane, but leaves me in either a complete panic or just feeling awful the whole day. A few days ago it was about sending a mass e-mail to my co-workers that was slightly risque and meant for an ex. I awoke in a complete panic that I was going to lose first-job because I’d done something so stupid. Eventually, I was able to rationalize that I’d just had a dream, but those first five minutes of fear just aggravate me.
Last night, it was about some unscrupulous actions involving a lot of my co-workers on a train. A train?!? I don’t understand why I can’t seem to just plain sleep anymore.
While writing Flight, I used to dream all the time, but those dreams were usually productive. Everything revolved around what I had written that day or what I wanted to write, but couldn’t quite articulate yet. Every once in a while, I’d give myself nightmares about what I’d written, like when Olivia’s character started saying some very ugly things and I dreamed of her being really ugly or when I had a nightmare about my unnamed antagonist in the novel. But again, all these dreams were productive and in many ways useful. These current dreams are just making me mad.
I wrote 383 words today (texting Brit, he heard Angel come home) and I’m hoping that I can just put myself straight to sleep tonight without the slightest inkling of a dream.