I’ve seen this dream before. Or I’ve had this moment before. Whatever way it was, I’ve dreamt of this exact fragment of time: I pick up a pink pilot pen, I’m working at the front desk, and I look up with the thought of a muscular man walking by. I HAVE HAD THIS DREAM. And just now, in a momentary sliver of time, I picked up my pink pilot pen, went to write something in my daily journal, (color coordinated of course), looked up to see if that hot Onvia guy was passing, and instantly had Deja Vu. Flashing visuals streamed across my subconscious: The male body (literally it’s anatomy, like one of those fitness diagrams where the muscles are colored) doing knee ups, me writing with a pen, me working somewhere at a desk—location unknown—a white background, and seconds later I’m back. Totally out of my body for seconds, then in a transcendent moment finding reality as if waking from a dream. The urgency which I felt to record this Deja Vu caused the same anxiety as when I try to remember a dream. Like the 30 second panic period after getting a phone number while on the phone so you repeat it to your friend who’s in the car with you and then she repeats the first three digits while you repeat the last four as you struggle to enter the combination into your phone before you both forget. Crisis averted. Except this time I can’t call back Mr. So & So to tell me the dream again if I forget a digit. So I repeat. Repeat Repeat Repeat until it’s down on paper recorded on a voice cassette typed into a word document carved into wood WHATEVER. Otherwise those things I’ve imagined will fizzle away and become leftover thoughts that no one can revisit. And my imagination is far too valuable (to me) to be forgotten.
Especially because without my imagination, none of my thoughts would make any sense.