had another dream of sorts... for context, i have been struggling with the plot of the story i'm trying to write. and by struggling, it literally feels like it is whittling me down into madness... anyway, from what i recall of this dream: we had started to redesign our house so that it had elements of nature indoors. like, in the middle of one room, right in the middle of the carpet, was a tree growing straight to the roof. or rather, there were a bunch of treelets, because they hadn't exactly grown into one trunk yet... oddly enough, there were trees also growing out of me, like out of my leg, because i guess at one point part of the plan was that i stand in the center of all of it, and be like part of this tree growing in the middle of the room...
in another room, there was a system of ponds.... like, again, right in the middle of the room. i was concerned, because there were parts were the pond wasn't bordered well, and i could feel the water leaking into the surrounding carpet. at first, the pond seemed very small and shallow. in fact, it had nothing living in it. but as i looked closer, there were snails in it (little water snails), and then goldfish... and before i knew it, there was this giant snapping turtle, which swiftly crossed over the paltry bamboo fence around the pond. i followed it, and while it passed over a white towel on the floor in the kitchen, it left a long trail of yellow poop on the floor. i tried to catch it, but as i rounded a corner, it kind of disappeared. i returned to the pond, hoping it had returned... as i did so, i noticed some wriggling in the carpet, and saw the legs of a giant harvester spider... and then, before i knew it, there was a wooden scorpion, some kind of cross between a harvester spider and a scorpion... it was attacking me. its legs were so thin they were basically invisible to me, so when i fought it, it was more a matter of just randomly flailing. after a while, i started running from it, and it quickly pursued me around the house...
*****
my story simply grows more incongruous. i am trying to map the plot, etc. etc. to find the structure, the plan, of the story... but i keep getting pulled into wrestling with details... like, if i do this, then how is it consistent with that? what is the motivation of this character? why would he/she care? it really eats away at me. oftentimes, i just lie on this couch and am rambling to myself about details of the plot. sometimes i dream obsessively about some detail, and it seems i have come up with a solution, but really, it's just repeating some stupid aphorism over and over... when i wake the inconsistencies are still there... i have struggled out a basic structure to the plot, but it seems... i don't know... i have to flesh it out... i think, unfortunately, that my process is never clean, and it involves a degree of suffering, of measuring out my own flesh to cut and eat...
i feel like i am falling into depression. i feel like i am going mad. i am becoming somewhat neglectful and tired and arthritic and whatever... and i don't seem to particularly care. i long for sleep, but then i hate sleep. but it pulls me down relentlessly. i want the promise of a dream, a dream that would liberate me. not the sort of dreams i get, these nightmares, these ugly things. these meaningless things...
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