I've been having a recurring dream going on about two weeks now. I've only had two other instances of recurring dreams in my life, which were much more nightmares if I'm being perfectly honest. This new scenario is harmless but stressful, with a faceless cast each night. The situation and setting are never the same, but every evening there is somewhere new to go, some trip I am late for or haven't made yet, some anonymous house I'm moving into, some place I was supposed to be but haven't quite gotten. Each night, I find myself exhilarated and exhausted as I attempt to keep up with the imaginary emergencies that my subconscious has decided to create.
A dear friend of mine is deeply fascinated by dream interpretation, and I'm sure she could tell me in a matter of minutes what the whole thing is supposed to mean. After all, dreams are supposed to mean something, aren't they? Or perhaps it's so much simpler than that. Perhaps my brain is as busy as my days, and it just needs somewhere to dump all the chaos.
Whatever my dreams end up meaning or not meaning, I appreciate them. I appreciate that creativity haunts me even in the depths of sleep, and I certainly appreciate the times I've run with it and turned it into a story.
People who aren't artists always want to know where inspiration comes from. I'm not sure it comes from anywhere—there's the distinct possibility that it just is, and it's up to the artist to recognize it. Sometimes I find it in my dreams, hear it in the chords of a song, feel it pushing my fingers across the keyboard. Sometimes inspiration isn't there at all, but still I write, because that's what I do.
I'm not sure what pictures my mind has in store for me tonight, what adventure I'll be off to this time, or what I'll do when I get there. But I can guarantee that if any of it's worth a damn, I'll be sure to write it down.