Dreaming

In the moments just after waking, it feels inexplicably pressing to remember every detail of your nightly visions. That the world you are trying to recall had, only a few minutes ago, been inseparable from reality, makes uncoiling dream life and waking life essential. Did you really run your toothbrush along the inside of a toilet bowl? Are all your teeth still in place? Are you at the bottom of a cliff? Did your sister really promise you five hundred dollars if you could touch your elbow to your tongue, and can you really touch your elbow to your tongue? The sense of urgency dwindles as one moves further and further into wakefulness and grogginess is overtaken by the aroma of scrambled eggs or the nudge of unfinished work, but even then, you are left uneasy. It is as though you are dimly aware of the fact that what your dreams consist of is not merely the stuff of fantasy, but something from the periphery of another life, lingering on after it has penetrated the guise of one that you are in.