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Dream a little dream of me.

I realize I haven’t blogged here in almost a year!

Well, here I am, and here you are, and how are you?

How was the last half of 2012 and first half of 2013 for you?

I’m very superstitious and neurotic about the length of my life. I always have this sick feeling I’ll die young and so on December 21st, I was in a hotel room in Florida and very sick with the flu and sort of delirious on a knock-off NyQuil I bought and ingested like maple  syrup, and anyway, I woke up around midnight, and had a powerful moment, which was like: “Oh my God, I’m so tired of being this fucking scared all the time.” 

I went back to sleep and dreamed of the end of the world. I have lucid dreams, (I just find out about that this year, I thought everyone dreamed like this) and this means that a lot of the time I’m not sure if I’m awake or not. Some nights or mornings, I have to do certain things in a certain order to make sure I am indeed, awake. I’ve battled demons all around my apartment in the last years. I’ve been nearly driven mad by these dreams. I’ve battled immense spiritual beings in the last years, always in this waking dream that seems to be attached to my brain like an actual tumor. But there’s nothing wrong with my brain.

Except that I have so much imagination and I am hypersensitive and it creates such a deep night around my head when I sleep. The night is a door. A porthole. 

I also suffer from sleep paralysis and for anyone who knows what that is like, you understand what kind of fears and panic this can bring. But I have worked on it for a long time and I’m actually trying to use these moments to go deeper into my mind and psyche.

Okay…Why am I telling you all this? 

Sometimes people ask why I became a writer…

I didn’t become a writer. I was born unhappy with reality. And didn’t have the means to become much of anything else. This is a cheap way to do the things I long and dream of.

So much so, that the ghosts and demons of everything I have to repress and compromise every day to make it here, in 2013, come out and play with me at night. 

If I don’t sit down at a computer six hours a day and write, I’m fucked, people.:-)

But as grim as this seems, I wouldn’t change it. I wouldn’t want to tone the magic down. Wouldn’t want to cut out the noise out of my nights. 

I mean, when are we really awake? 

I think I’m awake when I’m making love. Or on the dance floor on Saturday nights. Or listening to music. Or maybe cooking, yeah. 

But when I’m writing, I am asleep in the arms of the world.

And you? When do you feel lucid and awake? 



About Mel

Montreal queer fiction writer.

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