Monthly Archives: March 2012



I’ve done NaNoWriMo a couple of different times — the challenge is to write a 50,000 word “novel” in the Month of November. This year’s is actually … worth working on more. I was supposed to have it done by the first of the year, but you know, when it comes to my writing, I’m just about … I don’t know.

But tonight on pinterest I saw this site: It gives daily prompts to encourage you to write more on your blog. Since I have a new follower (Hi, Sarah!), I thought I’d attempt to get my fingers going and take a stab at the prompts.

I honestly don’t know if I can write any more. I know it sounds dumb, but … it’s true. But I can try, right?

So, here’s today’s prompt:

Thursday, March 8, 2012
Would you rather have a video copy of your dreams or a date book that contains the events of every day of your life?

Hmmm … I think I’d vote for the video copy of my dreams. I do journal, so I have a rough record of the days — the important days — of my life. And I’m not a person who regularly remembers dreams. Scientists say we always dream, but you couldn’t prove it by me. Once in a while, when I fall deep and dark, I do dream.

On the other hand, if I had a video record of my dreams, the potential of other people seeing it would increase, wouldn’t it?

But we really don’t have control over our dreams, do we? So when I dream things that make me shake my head when I’m awake, it’s simply my brain working stuff out, right?  I don’t know. I can’t believe that my dreams don’t somehow connect to my daily life.

I don’t usually dream about strangers — nameless, faceless people. When my dreams are traumatic, they always involve people from my real life. Even when they’re … ah … more physical in nature, they are not encounters with blobs or anonymous beings. But yet, the videos would show situations that I have never, ever found myself in.

So why does this stuff show up in dreams?

I remember my most traumatic dream. It was soon after my mom passed away. We were standing in the hallway outside of her hospital room. Suddenly, she began to disintegrate. There was a wind in the hallway, and she began to decompose, blowing away around me like a cardboard box tossed into a campfire. The box separates, and the gray sheets of ash ride the heat up until the cool air pushes it back down.

Everything was slow motion. And all the time, my mom kept smiling at me. It was the smile she wore when she wanted things to be OK, whether they were or not. She was literally coming apart, and she still kept smiling.

Next to her, in the hallway, was the “Staples” “Easy button …” and I remember feeling that if I could only hit that button, I coud stop my mom from sifting apart. I woke up shaking, and unable to find sleep again that night.

I relive that dream without video tape. Maybe … maybe I wouldn’t take either of these options.