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'' i've been sleeping hard, absorbed in dreams that are brilliant and colorful and so apparently real they leave me disoriented in my own skin come waking. i've been awake for hours and there's still something nagging at me, a self-that-isn't-self demanding attention like an invisible splinter. and i can't give it, because we're not acquainted and i can't remember anything i've dreamed. last night i remember waking in the dark tangled in my sheets, pressed down my by comforter, surprised i was in a bed and somehow annoyed to be warm and weighted and comfortable. when my alarm went off this morning i woke in a panic, not recognizing the familiar chime of my phone. it's not restful, not at all, and it puts me in a mood. i've been distant and quiet and tetchy, unable to hold a conversation in person, twisting my fingers till they ache whenever they're not typing, tossing myself into game just because it's so fucking uncomfortable right now entirely in my own mind. i want to write, want to spin stories in this dream-place beyond my waking memory. in any dream-place at all, but nothing comes. i might never know. my brain is creating without me and that rankles. ''