Last Night I Dreamt of Comediennes

Last night I had a strange dream. I was watching (or maybe producing) some sort of television retrospective of an aging comedienne--sort of like a cross between Carol Burnett and Rosanne Barr. The show had scenes of her previous episodes interstitially cut with scenes of her watching them from a couch on her set. Then the whole thing became just a random collection of people doing things and being with each other: mothers and their babies, people washing cars, couples walking together. Afterward, I went outside with a bunch of people--none of whom I knew--and it was night in the desert. We watched shooting stars by the hundreds move like migrating birds across the sky. After I woke from the dream, while I was in the shower, I almost wanted to cry because I could still feel the beauty and comfort from the dream.

I like dreams. In narrative writing class we shared our methods of writing and I said that dreams really influenced what I wrote and that some of my fiction was a transcription of dreams. Someone in the class found that incredible--that I would actually expose my inner psyche by writing down a dream. It just never bothered me...it's just a dream. Even if I dream that I kill someone, it doesn't make me a murderer. And besides, anyone uncomfortable with sharing their inner psyche has no business writing narrative fiction--or writing anything for that matter.

I was thinking of a really nice analogy before I went to sleep, but I was too lazy to write it down. It had something to do with waves and/or emotions or something. I must try to remember that.