Writing While Sleeping

Yesterday evening, after a yesterday afternoon of great home-cooked lunch and awesome discussions with coworkers and the yout' who were study and volunteering at the Center, was full of happy hour with coworkers, licentious old white men who wanted a taste of brown sugar, and an excellent live musician who played real music (including Bill Withers, which made me happy, happy, happy!). I had some a drinks and sang a little, and I was happy (I'm a happy intoxicant...and a featherweight). I get home and I'm coming down from the happy hour (that was actually about 3.5 hours, but who's keeping track?) and I get ready for bed. As I was falling asleep, a bit of dialogue came to me.

"Two weeks ago, I never even knew you existed and now you're my entire world."

Her former, cynical self would've scoffed at such a line, thinking it cheesy; but the heart of her current being swelled until it released its fullness on her gentle sigh.

(c) 2010 by Savannah J. Frierson

No, I did not bounce up from my repose and jot down that line. I just prayed I'd remember it in the morning (which I did! yay!) and continued on to sleep. Why that line even came to me, I think, is because my coworker said she wished she would've known me and the other coworker three years ago so she could've invited us to the wedding. And that stuck with me, because there are people who come into your life that you never knew existed and you truly wonder what your life was like when they hadn't been in it; or what it could've been like if they hadn't been in it.

#deepthought

So I'm sleeping...I'm sleeping...and then suddenly I'm at work and Cornel West is at the administrative desk where I spend those 8.5 hours of my day. And there's a patron or someone here to speak to my boss and he's asking me about my relationship with Dr. West. And I start going on about how he was my very first professor at Harvard during my very first class at Harvard on 9/12/01 (true story) and then that scene fades away and I'm at a park holding hands with a tall, solid (and borderline buff, actually) blond gentleman. And apparently I'm his wife. And apparently he is beyond in love with me. And apparently I'm 31 weeks pregnant. And he drove a white, beat-up, 1998 Jeep Cherokee (I may or may not have done a Google Image Search so I could get the correct year of the Jeep) with the right side mirror hanging on for dear life and black scuff marks on the driver's side door. It's his very first vehicle, and it doesn't annoy me because I'm suck on the "WTH?" of the entire situation. Apparently, we'd been attending a friend's wedding (and in the subconscious of my dream I think it's actually an AU of Tim/Bevin) but it is actually I and some other nameless blond (I never learn his name or get a really good look at his face, actually). And in fact he's the one who told me I was pregnant and how far along. Of course, I look down and suddenly I have a belly (I mean, a bigger one than I normally have...and a really nice pregnancy!chest; my dress was too cute, I have to say!). Then I proceed to panic because I'd had a drink during happy hour and I have to console myself with the fact many of our predecessors had drank and smoked during pregnancy and folks didn't keel of and die then!

And then I wake up, and I'm annoyed because it's 4-something in the morning but more because despite my confusion about what was going on, I had never felt so loved and protected. I knew I could make him laugh and he could make me laugh (he was endeared by my "I promise I won't screw the baby up!" rationalizations) and he'd held me like 1.) he'd never let me go 2.) would shank someone for even thinking about hurting me.

I think I just caught a glimpse of what I try to get my characters to experience, especially my heroines. And it's funny how happy-hour discussions stay with you (is alcohol a serious absorbent?) to the point it helps you write even while you're asleep.

Not that I have any danger of turning into a lush. I'm beyond a featherweight!