Dag 8.

I don't know.

I wanted to write something with meaning, and I wanted to write something constructive and personal and something that could touch and be reflected upon, but instead I have an enormous block. I guess I don't really recognize myself at times. Maybe the time of blogging for me is over and the time of diaries has just begun.

I was gifted a beatuifully hand painted text book that I take with me almost everywhere I go and in that I've been writing both stories and tiny observations in the past couple of weeks. It's great to invent and make up stories and have the opportunity to just put it down as soon as it pops up.

One of the reasons why I wanted to write today is because I woke up from a "nightmare", well let's just call it a lightmare, because it wasn't as if I, or anyone I know, was dying or chased or anything like that. I was in the middle of an exam, and everybody was there and I mean everybody. Teachers, friends and family from present, past and future. We had a bunch of questions on the test that I don't remember now, but the last part, during our total 3 hour exam, was to write a 5000 word essay on, I believe the topic was, love. The first part of the exam was 1,5 hours, the rest was to write this humongous essay and I started off well, but since I only had a pen, I couldn't correct my writing when I did something wrong! So about one paragraph down, I had to cross out one word, and instead of me keeping the going going, I crushed the paper up and started over. And this kept going for about 4-5 sheets of paper until I finally stood up and asked for more paper. But I just couldn't do it. I wandered around this Harry Potter-like hallway in search for anyone with more paper, or at least a pencil, and when I finally found one, I returned to my seat and started writing in pencil. I always prefer ink, and I had even, when I was walking around, scribbled some words on my left forearm that came to my mind. You know the feeling, it's kind of a scratchy one when you write on your skin but at the same time it doesn't really hurt.

When I sat down and started writing I had gotten about a paragraph into it again when I woke up, and I had the tingling sensation, the burning, scratching sensation in my left forearm, just where I in my dream had marked this words which were like "lovebird" and something else.

I had nothing on my arm of course, but the feeling where it was "supposed to be" was really strong. 

I've always had really powerful dreams, I've woken up crying, laughing, screaming, itching, remembering every. single. detail. and I guess that's a good sign of a healthy imagination. At least, that's what I tell myself, otherwise I'd think I'm crazy.

Don't be a stranger! Loves