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I only have one minute to write this:

In my first dream I had a giant burlap notebook that was twelve times bigger than my body, yet I had a jumbo-to-me, tiny-in-comparison-to-the-notebook pencil. I wrote poems about roller-coasters to an amusement park and sent it without an envelope, trusting that it would somehow get there based on its size.

I was a line drawing in the second dream, with lines of brown hair. I wrote a letter to myself in the first dream talking about a mysterious "Joe" that was apparently God, but deceptively sounded like a cup of coffee most of the time. I was two-dimensional but used only three-dimensional things, which made me self-conscious of my inferior state. I had a 3-D boyfriend but we couldnapos;t even hold hands because his fingers would pass through the little space of my hand and fall back down to his side. I sent a telegram to this "Joe" asking him if I could gain a dimension and a bird told me "No."

In the last dream, it appeared to be a blank canvas with which I could allow myself to create any dream, meaning that something happened to someone and anything could be right- since nothing is wrong in the dream state. I spent hours at a desk pretending I was Victor Hugo, but I only had pencils and it all felt very wrong.

This took three minutes and now I have five minutes to comb my hair, put on shoes, place my things in my book bag into my old briefcase, drink cold water, scratch my eyebrow, and put strawberry chapstick on my lips.

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