Yesterday, I accidentally read the wrong student stories for my workshop, so I wasn't prepared. That's never happened before and I don't know what I was thinking.
In addition, one student also asked if we could have workshop outside, and I declined, and she pouted in a good-natured kind of way.
So last night I dreamed I was a workshop student, and I was unprepared. I had not read all the stories under discussion. The teacher was a former professor of mine, a thin, enigmatic, intense man with curly hair. It was night, and we all sat around a huge wooden table in the middle of some woods. The trees were black-barked and bare. The sky was clear. A big full moon shone through lacy branches.
I had several thick, unread manuscripts before me.
I thought to myself, How weird, this situation, this place.
When we forget to do what we must, sometimes something is ajar. For the writer, this is gold. It seems your dreams are flowering. Is it the time of year? I too am dreaming intensely.
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