Dream
There was a great sense of panic and discomfort and loss.
I dreamt that I had thrown away my notebook, tearing the pages and dropping them one by one into coffee grounds and something soft, wet, and generally distasteful in the garbage. I entered in the middle of the act, not knowing what had happened to inspire it, not knowing what it was I was tearing. In the haze and discomfort that was my dream I became aware of what it was I was destroying and had no way of undoing it. There was a great sense of panic and discomfort and loss. I stopped immediately and began digging out the remnants. Of the pieces I found, the words were no longer legible; coffee grounds marred the thoughts and phrases, and I couldn't get them back. Ever. In my dream, I nearly cried.
What made this dream memorable for me was its urgency; the power and importance it lent to the simple loss of a bundle of paper. But it was more than paper, too, it was thoughts, transient ideas and minute observations that could not be duplicated, could not be recovered or reinvented. It reminded me of how immediate and unexpected and confusing and powerful loss can be.
I awoke confused.