You May Say I'm A Dreamer

For the past three nights, I've been experiencing incredibly vivid dreams. The fade-ins and outs remain hazy when I wake, but certain moments are as crystal clear as any deposit in my lifelong memory bank. I've been finding myself in situations that are so real to my senses. I remember the color and feeling of clothing, the height of the sun, the sound of car doors closing, the couple loose stones on the driveway, being right up next to someone. Even if I could tell my sleeping self "this is just a dream", I'd hesitate to believe it. The whole notion of just a dream seems insulting after nights like these.

Occasionally I'm joined within a dream by songwriters. Imogen Heap, Jason Mraz, and now Patrick Stump, have each co-written songs with me over the years, and sometimes they just show up and sing a new idea they're working on and I'm always floored by how incredible they are. It's their best stuff, in my opinion. Of course, the tragedy is when I open my eyes and the music has vanished. I like to think those melodies still live hidden somewhere in my soul, waiting for the right moment to be shared with the awake version of me. Or maybe they actually are the notes and words that Imogen Heap will find herself jotting down this morning.

A couple nights ago I somehow wound up working on new songs with Patrick Stump. I was getting ready to sing demos for things he'd been writing. We were sitting at a table looking over the lyrics, figuring out how we wanted to arrange the parts and sing each phrase. I was literally holding the printed pages in my hands (I use the term "literally" loosely in this case), and went through every single line of the song. I remember so clearly the nervousness in my stomach, thinking about how impressively I would need to perform, all the while wondering how the heck I was granted this awesome task in the first place. I could feel my molecules energizing with such enthusiasm and awe, convinced that the song I was holding in my hands was pure gold. Of course, I woke up, and the only word I remember is the girl's name he put down in quotations as a temporary placeholder... "Ramsy"... which we both kind of laughed about when we got to that part. "The words won't matter as much as you think. You gotta be fire, let that feeling live."

I wonder if the people we meet up with in our dreams are ever dreaming the same thing, or if they'll even remember. I've been waking up these past few mornings, the heels of my palms pressed firmly against my eyes, in a strange disbelief that I'd been dreaming at all. It's a beautiful gift any time I get to experience something completely lifelike in the dreamworld. And they've been so real lately.

I'm probably dreaming this right now...

"ramsy" sounds more real than "blog".

R.