If I get it all down on paper, it's no longer inside of me, threatening the life they belong to --Anna Nalick, Song "Breathe (2 AM)", Album Wreck Of The Day
The lyrics above best describe how I feel at the moment as I'm about to pour this out. A tiny side note: I love that song by Anna Nalick; she sings beautifully and really pours her heart out in these lyrics...which is why I felt it appropriate to quote her here. Anyway, it's actually around 7:30 in the morning as I'm starting this latest entry and I only have one and a half-hours before I need to be at work. You're probably thinking: she's writing in the morning?! Why not go the traditional route and do an entry right before going to bed at night? Well, to answer that: I need to lay this all out in the open before concentrating on the rest of the day that's coming. As you can see, the lyrics quoted above reflect this need quite appropriately. It's a need to tell what happened to me during the previous seven-and-a-half-hours before getting to this point, a need to sort it out as best I can so that it does not weigh me down during the coming work day.
And as it turns out now...the previous seven-and-a-half-hours I was asleep and dreaming. Everything I came to know was a figment of my imagination, and yet it felt so real. It makes me think about the whole concept of 'reality'; mainly...what is it? How blurred can the line between 'real' and 'imaginary' become? Is there even a line separating the two? Am I asking the correct questions? What if I am actually a figment of someone else's imagination or creativity and not really here? I have to wonder. Perhaps my questions are starting to make you wonder if they have not already done so previously.
In addition to feeling real, this dream...nightmare...whatever it was, felt compelling. In it, I was compelled to find Vicky, a.k.a. my half-sister Victoria Elaine Geish, a.k.a....one of my long-term motivations, dream or no dream: Find her and keep her and myself safe. Although, at first in the dream this motivation did not become apparent. I believe that's what drove me in the dream and what made my dream build and build upon itself. In other words, why my dream wasn't some short, metaphorical message, but rather a detailed, literal story in and of itself.
It started out ordinarily enough...so much so that I believed at that point to be 'really' awake and 'really' doing what I was doing:
You are in "Role Playing Games:7" ( Slay that dragon, engage in battle, and talk to that gamer! Visit http://play.yahoo.com/ )
Emily Moyra Byrne (Yahoo! I.D. auburn_clairvoyance) Early Friday morning...and the young redhead had been struck with a moderate case of insomnia. As the days rolled along, so did the severity of lack of sleep. And the headaches. Nothing that anything in-between morphine and extra-strength Tylenol PM couldn't fix. The cool air found her face, refreshed it, tantalized the vestiges of a migraine that had begun to calm down with the latest dose of the popular drug. She walked along a path lit by shafts of bone white piercing from the canopy of clouds a few thousand feet above her, dressed in a white wife-beater tanktop under a black courduroy jacket, black Dickies trousers, and an unnamed brand of worn hiking boots. <c>
Emily Moyra Byrne Her hair was loose, uncombed by a growing wind, wisps of locks flying over an alabaster face and partly-opened eyes whose irises were colored a light brown, black pupils currently seeming to swallow most of that color...if pupils had feelings, wants, hers would probably be labeled as 'opportunists'. The walk, she thought, would take her mind off the nightmare she just had minutes before leaving her place of sleep...hopefully that same walk would also