I read somewhere that dreams are what happen while your brain is busy filing memory into neat little compartments...or something like that. And that things get, mixed up, confused, out of sequence and while the rest of your brain is busy dreams float on the surface flashing daily dramas and mundane nicety and sometimes unspoken fear. Reoccurring dreams are some sort of glitch, the filing drawer left open or the memo never read. It's always the same, a place with so many rooms that all feel strange and yet, familiar . Opening doors and knowing what I think will be behind them and sometimes its easy and I'm right, but sometimes I'm wrong and I feel embarrassed or ugly. My dreams so often have to do with rooms, big houses, mazes and confusion with a spatter of triumph and comfort here and there. I suppose that's how it goes.
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