I was cleaning my room the other day, and I came across a random notebook. I started tearing out used pages in hopes of making more usable space in my desk drawer, and I came across a page that I had clearly written in haste, between asleep and awake. I could barely read the chicken scratch writing, but I knew it had originated from my hand.

It read:

 

Dream - Sept. 10th, Sunday

  Clint, Blacksburg stuff is packed to travel. Stop cab and it is Bob, Father. Cab Driver. He wouldn't stop and I couldn't carry the stuff. So I jumped in and bags were left on the street.
  Clint complains. Get off the gas, go back. Bob drives off.
  We stop at a house people, see the stuff, and start smashing it with a mallet. Anna is walking across the street. I reach out the window of the cab and touch the metal door. Clint pulls his hand back inside and it is covered in chocolate pudding.
  All I can think about is the stuff I left behind.

 

The last year that September 10th landed on a Sunday was in 2000. Before high school I kept a dream journal. The only thing I can think of, is this must have been such a whacked crazy dream, even in dazed, mind blurred state, I told myself, You must write this down!

 

Most likely, I fell back asleep after I finished writing it.