Woke from odd dreams with a sense of well-being as unaccountable as the turbulence of other mornings. I’m distressed that school exhausts me so that I don’t have the full value I imagined from my time off. I’ve always been a hoarder and protector of my own time. But I’m also a sensational nap-taker, and it would be a shame to let that talent languish out of a sense of shame. The dream I mentioned involved a little girl, an heiress, whom certain prosecutors believed to have been abused. There was no proof, and the little girl denied it, but they kept pursuing her and restricting her life, hoping to catch someone at some point obscuring the evidence they were sure existed. I’m not sure who I was in the story; I think a sort of guardian who was implicated in the crime and mistrusted by the prosecutors. A field of deep grass had something to do with it, and paintings kept in a vault until the prosecutors released money that belonged to the little girl, when she could redeem or buy them. I wandered through the vault admiring the paintings, which were mostly trompe d’oeil of tree trunks. Beautiful tree trunks, which I was identifying in the dream. Whatever else was going on, the dream filled me with the desire to go to the studio and paint, which I may do before the sun comes up.
Saturday, September 7, 2013
September 6, 2013
Woke from odd dreams with a sense of well-being as unaccountable as the turbulence of other mornings. I’m distressed that school exhausts me so that I don’t have the full value I imagined from my time off. I’ve always been a hoarder and protector of my own time. But I’m also a sensational nap-taker, and it would be a shame to let that talent languish out of a sense of shame. The dream I mentioned involved a little girl, an heiress, whom certain prosecutors believed to have been abused. There was no proof, and the little girl denied it, but they kept pursuing her and restricting her life, hoping to catch someone at some point obscuring the evidence they were sure existed. I’m not sure who I was in the story; I think a sort of guardian who was implicated in the crime and mistrusted by the prosecutors. A field of deep grass had something to do with it, and paintings kept in a vault until the prosecutors released money that belonged to the little girl, when she could redeem or buy them. I wandered through the vault admiring the paintings, which were mostly trompe d’oeil of tree trunks. Beautiful tree trunks, which I was identifying in the dream. Whatever else was going on, the dream filled me with the desire to go to the studio and paint, which I may do before the sun comes up.
Woke from odd dreams with a sense of well-being as unaccountable as the turbulence of other mornings. I’m distressed that school exhausts me so that I don’t have the full value I imagined from my time off. I’ve always been a hoarder and protector of my own time. But I’m also a sensational nap-taker, and it would be a shame to let that talent languish out of a sense of shame. The dream I mentioned involved a little girl, an heiress, whom certain prosecutors believed to have been abused. There was no proof, and the little girl denied it, but they kept pursuing her and restricting her life, hoping to catch someone at some point obscuring the evidence they were sure existed. I’m not sure who I was in the story; I think a sort of guardian who was implicated in the crime and mistrusted by the prosecutors. A field of deep grass had something to do with it, and paintings kept in a vault until the prosecutors released money that belonged to the little girl, when she could redeem or buy them. I wandered through the vault admiring the paintings, which were mostly trompe d’oeil of tree trunks. Beautiful tree trunks, which I was identifying in the dream. Whatever else was going on, the dream filled me with the desire to go to the studio and paint, which I may do before the sun comes up.
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