I dreamt last night that I had an infant son who either was, or was mistaken for, a large ball of yarn. It doesn’t make much sense, or sound particularly interesting, I know, but…
I’m not exactly sure why I’m even sharing it, except that every now and then one has a dream that one feels the need to remember, even as the details of it fade and fall away — perhaps because the details of it are fading away. Last night’s was that kind of dream. It’s strange how much it unsettled me this morning; I awoke with a genuine sense of loss for a son that wasn’t real and that I will never have. Even now, two hours later, it has stuck with me, and I’m writing about it even though I am at a loss to understand or explain it.
Dreams are very, very odd.