Perchance to Dream
After two restful nights in our new, spacious house, it’s safe to report it’s a winner. Last night, I lay awake for a while listening to the sounds of the house and imagining what the source of each one was. It’s fascinating that one person will interpret such things as the result of either discrete physical phenomena or ominous paranormal activity. This four-bedroom house is rather big—or it feels big with just two people in it right now—and does lend itself to the latter. But we decided it was right for us because, well, we plan to populate it in the near future. Room for growth, you know.
My mind was also strafing back and forth over the screenplay in between the pops and cracks. What was the subject matter? What were the themes? Scenarios? How complex should it be? How do I constrain my vision to match the projected budget? What sources of inspiration should I tap into? How safe should I play it? All those things and more darted through the cloudiness and shadows of a mind succumbing to the temporary death of sleep before the conscious dreaming kicked in. Even they offered no hints, no inspiration as to what or how I should write. In the last dream before waking up, I was sliding down a snow-covered hill on my stomach while a girl watched from a window. A dog from my childhood was close by.
There was another half-remembered dream last night. The only thing I recall is a girl screaming in a room that seemed faintly familiar. Why she was screaming I don’t know. But it gives me chills thinking about it. Actually, it almost feels like a real memory and not a dream memory, somewhere along a blurred boundary between the real and the imagined. Funny how the mind, memory, dreams and consciousness interacts. It’s a confounding machine.