18 Ramadan 1441

I am grateful for every day I wake up, although some days, I wish I could sleep a little bit longer to spend more time in an intriguing dream.

I love dreaming.

This year, for the first several weeks of quarantine living, my dreams were narratively interesting—and consistently involved some form of water. The last time I had a series of water dreams was eleven years ago.

I dreamt of rivers.

I dreamt of the open sea.

I dreamt of oceans. Beaches. Springs. Lakes.

I dreamt of driving on a long road surrounded by water crashing on both sides. I dreamt of driving down toward the sea. I dreamt of driving along the seashore.

I dreamt of an ancient, opaque, white alligator that emerged from the deep. I wanted to tell people to get out of the water.

I dreamt of swimming in clear blue water. I dreamt of swimming in the late afternoon.

So much swimming.

I dreamt of boats moving along the water.

I dreamt of a place with many swimming pools. Large pools. Small pools. Fancy pools. Pools with slides. I walked around to explore in the evening right after the sun set. The pools were well lit. Some pools had a large crowd of swimmers. I avoided that pool and opted for a more private, remote location.

I must have been social distancing.

But once Ramadan began—and my transformation into a night owl was complete—I stopped dreaming about water.


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