"Yeah, well...."You are in my dreams these days. Getting more and more aggressive. Leaning into me. Whispering in my ear. We're standing amongst paintings and drawings hanging on the walls of a classroom, and I am cold and wet for some reason.
Ah, yes. It was the water fountain. Someone had sabotaged it. I came along, bent down for a drink, and got water sprayed in my face. Cold. Very cold. In my moment of blindness I crashed into a professor as she was coming out of the restroom. Another typical day.
In my wildest dreams, there's a flicker; a spark, a moment of clarity. That microcosmic nod that would obliterate my day... in a good way, I mean.
Instead, I wake with a start of discomfort. A ping of surprise, looking around and expecting some glowing beacon, some corporal vestige of the dream to which I can cling. Something real. But there is nothing.
Until then...
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