Many of the things that pop into my mind when I first wake are difficult to write down. If I had perfect pitch and could tell you exactly what note was what, it would be different. I’d have notebooks beside my bed full of little melodies to add lyrics to. What I hear in my head some mornings is not unlike listening to a beautiful song where they’re singing a language I don’t know. The harmonies fit together perfectly, but the singer in my head is just basically making vowel sounds. When these melodies pop in my head and I can’t get rid of them, I reach for my phone to record them. The problem with that is I have a hard time singing when I’ve been asleep for 6+ hours. I also have this insecure feeling like someone is going to hear me try to sing and judge my performance. But there is no one around when I wake up. My roommates are across the house and sleeping most likely. They have no reason to come to my side of the house . . . unless they want something from me. So all of these things are going through my head and I’m trying to remember the melody and I’m worried about being found out so when I listen back to it days or months later, I sounds like I’m trying to sing to someone in a library. In a bunker.
If it isn’t a melody, it’s a dream. Many of my dreams are cinematic in nature. There are plots that stretch out over what seems like hours and days at a time. If it is a particularly good dream, I write it down on the first piece of paper I can find before it fades into the recesses of my mind. One of those dreams actually became the premise to a short story I started writing. In this dream, I’m at a wedding and the preacher stops the entire ceremony to call attention to the fact that I am there. The strange thing about it is that I’m not actually the person that everyone thinks I am, but I go with it anyway. It just takes me a second to realize it because this particular person and I just happen to have the same name.
I have recurring dreams where I’m traveling across a long distance, walking through mountains and rivers on my way to meet someone. Once I decided to walk home from church camp on foot and had to pass through a person’s house to get to the field that lead to the mountain pass that took me to the mall where I was meeting up with my parents. I wrote that one down in one of my many notebooks that I keep in my desk next to my bed. I like to revisit it from time to time. It’s always pleasant to remember where my mind was at that time and what significance the dream had to me.
In response to The Daily Post’s writing prompt: “First Light.”