Broken Eyes and Sobbing Hearts

I've been writing like crazy lately. In my dreams.
In the past year I've been having a ton of those 'waking dreams'.

I notice it mostly when I'm asleep but think I can see the inside of my eyelids. Then I begin to see whats around me, where I'm at, what I'd be seeing if I was awake. Sometimes I'm right, sometimes I'm not.

Lately in these last few minutes of my waking dreams I've been 'writing'. In my sleep its genius, and when I first wake up I think its some brilliant showing of a deep dream. But alas I barely ever write it down because I'm always running behind on getting where I need to be. But in the afternoon when my mind slows I remember pieces. Most of it is not good, not bad, but not genius for sure. And the rest of what I think is right on the cusp of being something worthy can't be recalled. The only thing left behind is the idea of the greatness, the memory of impact.

Here now as I write this I feel very stunted, very short. Perhaps its because I'm awake.

---

Last night a convo with the man at the liqour store:

"Oh Misssoureeeeeee. It is beautiful there?"

Yes. Very.

"You are here on vacation?"

No, school. Law school.

"You are a very smart girl"

Or very crazy

"I tell my daughter to be like you. That way it is her house--she can kick him out when he mistreats her. I dont want her need anyone"

My Dad did always say I wasn't out for a MRS. degree

"You are a very smart girl"

Or crazy



Then Michael Buble's "Home" played on the car radio as I drove home.