(Entered in paper journal at 7:54 AM at Connecticut Muffin in Windsor Terrace, Brooklyn.)
Dream #1
I was somewhere with a very pretty, tan-skinned girl with long, black hair. We may have been in a room on a ground floor, which had a wide door-wall open to something like a summery courtyard.
The girl had read through my screenplay. She thought the story was good. She said she was going to re-write the script, though, on her own. She scrolled through the screenplay from the end backwards. The end of the screenplay was full of writing, as if the characters gave nothing but monologues, which filled the pages. As the play progressed backwards, the monologues/dialogues may have tapered off a bit.
The woman began speaking to me about some of the elements of the screenplay, as if she expected me to go write the play or parts of the play, though she was still thinking of herself as having written the whole play (even though she said she was going to re-write it, not that she had already re-written it). The things the woman said were very interesting. They possibly had something to do with efficiency.
I saw a small pond in the sunlight. A little turtle plopped up to the surface of the water and then dove back down.
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