I have 17 draft entries in here, unpublished, unfinished because
I hav'nt the time to correct and approve my own writing.
I am my worst critic.
My mood is so kaleidoscopic that I crinch at an entry that only yesterday I wrote so passionately about.
Let me share an intriguing fact about me.
Yes, Because its all about Me. A'u. Moi'.
I am an eloquent writer in my sleep.
In fact, I win Nobel Prizes from my writings in my sleep
At times, I am woken from my narratives because I want to word it properly.
However, transcending from dream to thinking disrupts my slumber.
Once conscious, I find myself dissapointed I have forgotten my superbly worded story in the back of my sleeping mind.
Last night, I was woken abruptly from my dreamlike fagogo by the violence of my thoughts.
I was being choked, suffocated and gasping for air.
I was hanging from a banana tree next to a green mountain.
As I fought for my life, I realised that the banana tree was bending slowly to the weight of my beautiful body (Like I said, its a dream, anything is possible).
In a painfully slow motion, the banana tree fell towards to earth, unto my head.
I woke up frightfully, relieved that it was only a dream.
As I lay myself to sleep, my miti spirit roams again.
Hmmmm, where shall I take you next?
CandyLand? Lech in Winter? Strawberry flavoured clouds? Half naked Sparkan men serving you Vailima? under a fuafua tree?
I struggle at first to manipulate my wandering thoughts.
Dream happy dreams, dream happy dreams
Only to find that once again, my wishes are ignored and I'm once again stuck between two faafafines on a Pasi o le Vaa bus crawling towards Mulifanua.
My alarm clock strikes 6am and I realise that that, wasn't a dream, that was a fucken memory.