I took a nap this afternoon (snuggled up with one of the cats -- they are so so happy to have me home) and dreamed I was in a workshop. I don't know who the teacher was, I don't think he was anyone I know, but as the dream began (or as the part of it I remember began) I had just read a poem and the teacher said "Don't you all agree she needs to freshen all of her language?" and everyone was nodding and mm-hmming. I thought, but didn't say out loud, "But people like the language that they know!"
I'm even getting workshopped in my DREAMS now. How funny is that?
I do not remember any dreams that I may have had while in Provincetown. Maybe this is because I didn't sleep that well in my noisy B&B (there was sewer work on the house next door, so the construction vehicles started up every morning around 7:30 and the diggy-thing that shook the entire house started around 8, but that was OK since I wanted to get up no later than that anyway -- plus the parking lot, right outside my front window, was gravel and anytime a person walked through it to get to their car or to the door of the main house it went crunch crunch crunch, and traffic, and on the last night the boys in the room next door were apparently having a *ahem* very good time). Or maybe it's because the creative, associative part of my brain was getting such a workout all day and it was too tired to come up with images for dreams. Really, I'd write/revise for a good couple hours every morning, class for three hours in the afternoon, readings in the evening, and most evenings I did a little writing too. And even when I ate lunch or dinner, if I was eating alone & if I wasn't writing, I was reading poetry. I've never had a workshop that asked quite that much immersion of me. That's probably one reason it was so productive. It was kind of odd not to dream though.