I am not a creative writer. I wish that I were. I'm pretty darn good at analytical writing, and I've always wished that I could write stories. Whenever I try, I come up completely blank.
I wish that I could write as well as I dream.
This morning I was in the middle of a very interesting dream. It had a strong plot, along with about three sub-plots. It even had a crazy lady who was willing to do anything to protect her only friend. When I say crazy, I mean mentally deranged, blind and half of her teeth missing. Weird, I know. I was about to find out how the dream would end when I was abruptly awoken by screams.
Awww, Cooper. I looked next to me and realized that Brent was gone.
"Good," I thought, "he's taking care of it."
But as I tried to sink back into my blissful dream state, the screaming did not stop. I looked at the clock: 5:10 am.
I couldn't figure out why Cooper wouldn't stop screaming, and was worried about him waking everyone else. Surely Brent was handling it, wasn't he?
Oh. That's right. Brent had to be at work at 5:45 this morning for a PT (physical training) test. Darn. That meant that I had to get out of bed a whole hour early.
I went downstairs to find Cooper in the dark, screaming at the front door. He must have woken just as Brent left the house.
I took him back upstairs, "ow, ow, ow, ow." And tried to get him to go to sleep in my bed. You see, sleep is pretty much the most important thing in the world to me, so I work hard to get as much as possible. But after wiggling around next to me for fifteen minutes, Cooper tried to sneak out of bed. When I stopped him, he told me that he wanted to go back to his bed.
"Oh, great!" I thought. That meant that I could have at least 30 minutes more to myself.
Unfortunately as I walked Cooper back to his bed, Mercedes' head popped up. Once she's awake, there's no getting her back to sleep.
I'm still wishing that I could go back to my dream. My sub-conscious is so creative and fun.