As a REmissionary, my mind is always mulling over ideas for various projects. My thoughts, when not corralled by the need to concentrate on the job at hand, often hitch a ride on passing whims, tackle mountainous sewing obstacles, or even plan crafty little ways to sneak in extra fabric-store time.
Then there’s the desire to express myself – another passion that carries me off into the wild blue yonder. Or the wild gray yonder. Gray matters, you know.
Sometimes my imagination is a dry river bed, starving for the roar of an onrushing flood of ideas, begging them to overwhelm the banks of my mind. Other times it’s a switchboard (anyone remember those??), desperately struggling to plug the right thought into the right slot and make a coherent connection.
Ideas either come swarming in, or they just saunter over and lean on the back of my mind, waiting for me to notice them. When I take note of them, I don’t know which sweet morsel of thought to grab first. I want them all! But they play King of the Mountain, scrambling and falling over one another, grabbing one another’s heels and pulling each other away from the top of the pile. Do you know how hard it is to choose just one line of thought, when so many are tumbling over themselves in my brain, all clamoring to be heard? I’d go deaf if they had audible voices!
It can be exhausting to be a dreamer. My mind acts out elaborate plays on words and intricate scenes, always in full technicolor. Rarely do I daydream in black & white . . . although I do nightmare in black & white. I see a white dot throbbing and pulsating on a black background, growing larger with each throb until it threatens to consume me, then it contracts ever so slowly, in time to the beat of my heart, until it’s once again a manageable size and my dream-eyes can relax for a moment. That one gets me every time! I wake up panting for breath and scanning the room for white dots. Not finding them, I emit a relieved sigh and flop back down to regain my place in Slumberland. Ah yes . . . sweet dreams do come, but at a price.
Well, that’s my Saturday morning ramble . . . what’s yours?