In the past month or so, I've twice woken up from a dream and thought to myself "that would make an awesome story! I should write this down." I've been keeping a notebook near my bed and on my person whenever possible explicitly for that purpose. I feel like I've let too many great ideas slip through my fingers like so much smoke.
Well, it happened again. It was like a total meta-dream. There was this great story, but I can't remember it now - all I can recall, for the life of me, is that it reminded me of that old story "The Gift of the Magi," but was different enough to matter. I remember dreaming about talking to my friends about how awesome of a story it would be, and them encouraging me to explore it. I remember thinking it could be part of a great short-story cycle (no doubt influenced by my taking a class on that literary form this semester). I distinctly remember waking up, and thinking to write it down. I even remember writing it down... twice!... but I guess those were just dreams too.
It's really remarkable how those ideas can just dissipate. It seemed so clear to me at the time, I didn't think I'd ever forget it. When I woke up, there was nary a trace of the story's core. It just seems like such a waste.
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