I’ve never read anything by Saul Bellow, but a couple weeks ago I woke up to find I’d scribbled this in my journal in the middle of the night: “Every morning, I wake to find that Saul Bellow has spent the night between one of her weaknesses and one of my weaknesses, like a scared pillow.” What does this mean??
Figuring Google would know, I started to search for “writers who scribble inscrutable things in their sleep.” I got as far as this:
Now, do you blame me for getting sidetracked?
Writing is my chosen occupation, after all. My passion. My calling in life.
And apparently I’m doing it all wrong.
a) I’m still alive and b) I started writing at the age of seven:
c) I successfully pursued (and/or was pursued by) a B.A. d) I can’t drink more than one glass of wine without getting sleepy and e) again, I’m still alive. f) I love to read. g,h) Once again, I started early and yep, I really am still alive. And i) if I didn’t love writing, I don’t know why I’d be still awake at 11:47 p.m., puttering away at a blog post when I could be curled up in bed, dreaming about…Saul Bellow.
Perhaps the scribbling in my sleep is merely an extension of the talking in my sleep. I do frequently talk in my sleep. I encourage Noj (whose name has been spelled backward for privacy) to write down the things I mumble, in the hope that one day a prophecy will emerge. Some of the most promising so far:
– “Fuzzy bear. Less convincing.”
– “Organic star farm. All in rows.”
– “Fluff. …FLUFF!”
– “Standing slanted on a sideways surface.”
And then there are the interactive ones. Yes, another person can talk to me while I’m asleep and I’ll respond. There is recorded proof:
me: “She’s leaving the galaxy! Watch out! She has curly hair!”
Noj: “Why is she leaving the galaxy?”
me: “Probably picking strawberries.”
me: “You have to scoop the pollen out.”
Noj: “Out of where?”
me: “Out of the yogurt.”
me: “Because there’s flowers in it.”
Noj: “Why are there flowers in the yogurt?”
me: “Well, that’s the problem these days!”
me: “It’s harder for the blue people.”
Noj: “What is?”
me: “We’re just playing soccer! It’s not what it looks like.”
Noj: “What does it look like?”
me: [grinning in my sleep] “Haaanky-panky.”
Well. Speaking of sleep, I should probably get some. Saul Bellow, less convincing fuzzy bears, blue people–watch out, here I come. And I’m bringing a pen.