Last night I dreamt that I took three months off my dayjob and wrote things. I don’t remember what they were, but I remember the writing. Most of it took place in a bathtub.
All in all, it was a good dream.
In reality, I’ve spent the day trying to commit acts of short story and, for the most part, failing. I’ve been meaning to write this story for a long time, near on two years, largely ’cause this scene gets stuck in my head:
We were seated in a McDonalds, occupying a pair of hard plastic seats with a two-person table between us and the window overlooking the playground on my left. There were kids in the playground wearing soccer uniforms, these black and gold jerseys with numbers on the back, and their shrieks rattled the glass as they darted back and forth. It was a Saturday morning, eleven-forty-three AM. I was eating a cheeseburger. We were meant to be seeing a movie together, our sixth date in three weeks. I don’t remember which movie it was.
Jill said, “I was possessed by a mummy once.”
It’s possible I need a bathtub to finish things. I wonder what the odds are that my dream was prophetic…
