As much as I think I want to write, I’m afraid to. My thoughts while I’m asleep are all about writing and exploring concepts and ideas. I’ve had the great “Ah, ha!” moment but I have no idea what it was about. It was proofed once, than twice. Yet, all I have are dream images of typed pages, beyond my grasp. I’m exhausted having worked so hard, like a scientist, philosopher, or a writer, yet I haven’t gotten any further.
When I woke, I wanted an orange. It was more than the thought: hum… I think I’ll get an orange. My thoughts were obsessive. So, I got up to get it. I peeled it anxiously with a knife and instead of separating a section, I cut a wedge. There was a cool ocean of orange splashing in my mouth. Each piece I ate I cut bigger than the last. The satisfaction was surreal.