Is it really going to be 70 degrees this week? Or is the forecast just fucking with me?
So the other night…Thursday, methinks…I had this dream. When I woke up in the middle of the night, I almost sat bolt-upright in bed and said out loud, “What. The Actual. FUCK?”
Instead I just stared up at the ceiling, thinking to myself, Seriously…WTF do you smoke before bed, Sister? This can’t be good for your wellbeing.
And then I got out bed.
Pretty sure most people wouldn’t find the dream all that weird, but this is me we’re talking about. I read crazy shit into dreams like it’s my damn job. And this one had me wide awake from a dead sleep at three in the morning. Then once the initial WTF wore off, my brain automatically went to: I wonder if I could write this?
Because that’s how I roll.
In my infinite insanity, I managed to tie the idea that was brewing in my head into an existing story that was also spawned by a dream. Because if I was going to take up smoking crack, I might as well go balls-deep.
And now I have twenty-three pages of text written.
Due to the sudden inspiration of this…new…idea, the legitimate project I’ve been working on for so many weeks has been temporarily pushed aside to accommodate this recent trip to crazy town.
Bob just shakes his head at me. I’m pretty sure he’s really starting to question his own sanity for putting up with my derangement like he does.
And then he asks me what I’m currently writing. And I tell him the latest scene in front of me.
And I realize how fucking lucky I am to have someone who loves my complete and utter insanity.
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