I am in the first waking moments of the morning. I remember that I was dreaming about something; the images are vague ghosts of what they once were, retreating under penetrating rays of dusty sunlight. Faces bleed together and now only hazy figures dance before my mind's eye. I try with all my groggy mental might to grasp these images, to come to terms with what has already so quickly been forgotten, but alas, it has passed into forgetfulness.

I wish I could record my dreams. I feel as if I'm really missing out on one of life's greatest joys.