Got going a dozen different directions, today, with no time to do any writing, at all. Problem is, if I don't commune with my characters at least once a day, I get irritable and snappish...not good if you want to get me to do something for you...but between family, the packing job and changes to the storyboards that need to be done before I head for Baltimore, I haven't been able to even think outside my immediate demands let alone plot out a story point, and it's nearly midnight. If I start anything now, I'll be awake till 3 or 4 am and a REAL bear in the morning. So all writing is shunted aside, probably because it means so much to me. Feeds the silent, low-key martyr complex I seem to be developing.
Oh, well -- I am tired. I've been dreaming a lot, though not really remembering them except to wake up in the middle of one and be lost for a moment. I halfway wonder if dreams are an instantaneous story told in the back of our brains, something trying to connect us to the truth of the universe...because I would almost swear that lately things I think I dreamed about are happening. I looked up an apartment in Buffalo via CraigsList and it had photos with the listing...and it looked so brutally familiar, it spooked me. I've had that happen before and don't quite know what to make of it. Of course, I was raised Presbyterian and I hear they believe in predestination...that our lives are mapped out in the stars or something...but it always seemed a bit fanciful. I'm beginning to wonder if it's more truth than fiction.