I woke but did not want to be awake. Then asleep again I was dreaming of the revision to the story—what changes have been asked for, what is wanted—and the words were moving blobs coming from my fingers; they did not want to set down on the page because I didn’t want them to be there. The scene I worked on this week will have to be cut, I knew it, in sleep and then again when awake. Why? Because I hate it. Because I don’t want it there. This was in my dream just as it’s here now. Probably I wasn’t really asleep because I was constantly aware of my surroundings, aware of time leaking away, aware of 8:02 am and then 8:11 am and then 8:30. I forced myself up. I had an unnameable sense of dread. I might not be able to do it, I thought in the shower, do the revision the way the editor wants it. Then again I might. The dream sure wasn’t giving me any answers.
I wish I didn’t have to do this. But I have cut the scene and am now, in another window, starting over.