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A dream and writing

I had a dream last night about an old friend. I was talking to him today, and found out he had written a book about me. I wanted to read the book, and I started to read but woke up. I went back to sleep and back to the dream. I was flipping through the book and wasn't sure it was about me. But then I found a page with my name on it. I tried to find it again, and I couldn't before I woke up again.

I like the idea of someone writing a book about my life, but there isn't anyone who can. I mean there isn't anyone who has been there and seen it. All those who are here now, were not there then: and those who were there are lost to time and death.

But today I am writing again, and I plan to try and write every day. Because maybe the point of the dream really is I need to start writing my own story again. And this is the story telling medium of our time.

Time to dream another story.


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