The air was cold last night, or maybe it was just the room. I really don't know. I tried to cuddle up under countless sheet sand baby blankets, but my arms remained goosebumped and my face chilled. I wonder if I'm coming down with something.
Another thing is my recent dreams. As i drift into night, sometimes I have most peculiar dreams. For they are not like Alice in Wonderland, or like Pan's Labrinth, but instead my own world that flourishes with curiousity. It seems like frimilliar territory, my dreams, but when I wake up I caan not place my tounge on what had intriuged me in the first place, none the less. It's distant, but like I'm coppying a movie or book. Maybe Peach Pitt [the story I'm working on] has invaded my dreams.
I don't know. /Shrug.
4 years ago