Dream Diary

I have been having the most vivid, intense dreams lately. The kind where you wake up, and you are surprised to wake up. I going to blame the time of year, the weather, the darkness. It is pitch black by four pm, and that makes you want nothing but sleep, or some other version of hibernation, all day long…

I dreamed last night that I could paint. Swirling colours, oils, watercolours, perfect brushstrokes of every shape size and hue fusing into one greater, beautiful thing. The paintings looked like nothing, maybe human in proportion, I don’t know. And I spent all my time either painting or combing Russian art stores, trying to find the perfect supplies, the best colours, the ideal textures so that I could go home, not sleep, and spend the rest of my hours working them into something beautiful. Not even beautiful--just creating things to match what seemed alive, even breathing, in my head.

I cannot paint. I can sketch, barely, abstract human forms, a leftover of my time short time studying design. But I haven’t so much as held a paintbrush since Kindergarten class. Whatever I could produce would impress no one, least of all me. This I know. This morning, however, I am overwhelmed this morning by the desire to do just that.

Maybe I’ll buy myself some pastels for Christmas. Although knowing me, the urge will wear off by the New Year. I’m changeable (read: flighty) like that. It's like Lucy Ricardo is my brain's Project Manager....