The day I learned Tadpole’s fate, I woke up composing a post to a blog that I was planning on starting – not this one, obviously, but another one that chronicled the journey. I woke up this morning and began composing a post for today and in the morning light, I can’t remember it. It’s probably for the best, it wouldn’t have been half the post I was imagining it to be.
I’m not entirely sure why my sleeping mind decides it wants to write right as I wake up. My sleep heavy limbs are never coordinated enough to reach for pen and paper to jot these simply ephemeral thoughts that my mind writes. (Though, I have to admit that at least I remembered the phrase “sleep heavy limbs”.)
If I can remember correctly, my sleep prose is very purple and wordy. This isn’t me in real life. I am quiet, shy, reticent and prefer to stand back and observe before I add something to a conversation. It would greatly amuse me if I could write down whatever dream-writing I could as I woke up. It would be nothing but scribbles; the same kind of scribble of a physician writing your prescription. It’s illegible, messy, and nonsensical.
But in my sleepy head, it would be the greatest thing ever.