Monday, January 27, 2014

Automatic Writing

Outside, the sun is only a slightly brighter patch in an expanse of gray, more a suggestion than a source of heat, light or hope.

Inside, I type away, busy at work on my novel, but the post-brunch catatonia is quickly catching up, and my eyes drift closed in the midst of a sentence.  I take dictation from dreams that I don't know I'm having.

I snap awake, and read where I've typed, apropos of nothing around it, "...and she wants to kick me off the Cheer squad."


  1. This happened to me once. When I woke up from working on a history paper late one night, I read, "you need to go to sleep."

  2. Practical advice from the voice of your subconscious, as opposed to the nonsense mine seems to spout: our personalities in a nutshell.