Mother says, if I have a bad dream, I should say it in the loo and literally flush it out of my system. In short, she refuses to hear mine. But I almost have a need to think about them, the moment I wake up. On rarer days I wake up in the middle of the night, at three-twelve, part happy that it’s not time to wake up yet and distraught and wanting to recount the dream. It’s uncanny how I remember the details most times. The seats were green and the time was six-fourteen, like that. Last night was different though. I felt the dream. I don’t think that’s uncommon. But it’s not so frequent for me to feel so. I felt a tear on my neck [of course at Heathrow]. And I immediately opened my phone to write a mail, saying, oh, you know and blah. I recalled my mother’s saying. Unwanted drama needs to unfold on the blog hence, not in a pointless email. [Everyone can’t like my randomness, except my blog, of course]. I really think I should keep a dream-notebook and record my subconscious creativity.
|From Contrariwise.org. There was once I was asked
if I had a tattoo. It was hard to decide,
which one, so. This could’ve been one.
Talking of creativity, here’s are 33 (not less!) ways to stay creative!
Agassi’s trainer Gil says, qué lindo es soñar despierto – how nice is it to have a dream while you’re awake. I’m going to say, awake or asleep, how lovely is it to remember it. That’s #34, to me. To sleep—perchance to dream. Ay, there’s the rub! For in that sleep of death what dreams may come…
Also my favourite feel good website linked with the picture. There’s a reason I could never decide on a tattoo.
PS: Shakespeare aids dreams, I think, even if they mean nothing.