*Public Service Announcement* I have misplaced my mind. If you happen to see it, please take it, and feed it (its favorite foods include obscure ancient European history, myths, Tolkien, Lewis, and Macdonald) and email it back to me. It is desperately needed and wanted. Thank you.
There is nothing worse than having a dream end 5 minutes before you wake up. One begins to rouse to consciousness and memories of the dream still stand vivid and full in the middle territory of wakefulness and sleep. Gradually, you pull out of the haze but the dream is left. As consciousness is fully regained, you are left with the tastes and emotions of the dream you just left. Whether blissful or not. It haunts you. You feel as though the whole dream is there. To be recalled. On the tip of your tongue and you make desperate attempts to recall it and replay it in your mind. The dream seemed like it might have been a pleasant one. One you would like to remember and turn around in your mind but you can't seem to know why. You just want to. There was something about it. But it is lost. It is lost to you. Suspended forever, lost in the strange world between sleep and awakening. Where you can never recover it. Where it can haunt you to the end of your days. It will join forces with all the others, and now and again, their different flavors come rushing back to overwhelm your senses but you can't tell what caused them nor from whence they came. Frustration. Extreme frustration. Chasing after something you can never catch. Yes it plagues me. Today, so much. I dreamt dreams last night that left me just so this morning. I remembered the most unimportant bit and sometimes, it almost leads me to being able to recall the rest, but I can't. Cursed dreams. Plaguing me. Hounding me. Show yourselves or dissipate forever!
On another note, along the lines of my public service announcement (which is modeled after one written by another whom is aiding me in my search), my mind being lost, and my mood being high, I have a hard time writing. That strange phenomena. I am too happy to write anything of substance. Angst, despondency, sorrow, depression and despair add depth and darkness to me and to what I will produce and write. When those elements are gone, I am left shallow. I am happy. There is nothing to ponder. Nothing to turn over. I am blissfully numb to everything but my blessed high and its causes. And then I do not feel like explaining the causes. They are there, with me, I can see them, why explain them? Oh curses good moods. You even impede me from working this out. To be in the state of creativeness yet pain and sorrow, or to be in the state of utter numb bliss? Both have their advantages. They must be worked and experienced to their fullest I suppose.
Although the blissful unawareness is really not conducive to diary entries and seriousness.
Let's skip off searching for lost dreams and lost minds again