First, the writing thing. Though there was a bit of a struggle with the writing–motivations just weren’t what they should have been–I managed to squeak out a little over nine hundred and forty words in my newly added scene. This did some interesting things to the word count–while the count for Act Two is now hovering just before forty-nine thousand, five hundred words, the count for the full manuscript hit a new milestone . . .
I’ve only passed into the territory once before, and there’s a very good likelihood that this novel is going to surpass that other novel by some distance. Just gotta keep going, moving forward, and remember that the next scene is gonna involve some math. Just for me, though: you won’t see it. Science, bitches: it makes writing better. Or so I’m told.
Let’s put that behind me, though, because there’s something on my mind, something bothering. Probably because I know the true meaning of what happened . . .
I’ve written a few times about how I’ve felt my dreams were either sadly lacking or simply non-existent. Some of that has to do with my sleep habits, which are, frankly, pretty sucky. It seems like if I don’t go to bed late and sleep for six hours straight, I wake up kind of out of it the next day. Or for several days afterwards.
However . . . the last week or so the dreams have come back strong and with a vengeance. Exceedingly vibrant as well. Like last night, it seemed like I was spending a lot of time going to a job that I didn’t walk, and that it was cold and snowy in July, and when I arrived as said word someone tried to take the keys to my car, and I ended up breaking their arm to keep that from occurring.
It was Friday morning, however, that really hit me hard . . .
I’ve been in situations where I can’t tell if I’m truly asleep or not. It’s like a waking dream; I know something’s going, I know I’m seeing something, but am I just thinking these things, or am I stuck in a dream so vivid that it feels like I’m awake?
Whatever I was feeling Friday morning, it doesn’t really matter. What I felt was having a woman I’ve known for years, rolling over in bed next to me, saying good morning, honey, you’re up early, then leaning in close to me to plant a good morning kiss. I leaned in close to receive said kiss and give her one of my own . . .
And that’s when I realized I was alone in bed. Not only that, but my left hand was slowly rubbing the pillow I keep there to hug when I go to sleep. I broke into sobbing, and it took me a good thirty minutes before I was able to drift off to sleep once more.
With the return of the dreams have come the return of the emotions. April was a bad time for feelings, and there were a lot of crying jags. Tomorrow starts the first of my hormone treatments, or as some might say, “Welcome to Puberty 2.0!” and I have a feeling the next month or two are going to be crazy times at the casa.
Add to this a lot of heart string tugging on my part . . .
I can get through it. Just takes a little perseverance, right?