I dreamt last night that I was an accomplished writer. In the beginning I was in the process of writing a book. I was nearing the end of it, the writing tight and engaging, the story pulsing along. To this point it was just another random dream, but then it took a strange turn.
I don’t know how it happened, but abruptly I had a doppelgänger – another self, under my control and direction. I used him to represent myself out in the world while I stood back and watched – in effect, he became me. Every so often I would need to power him down and reboot, as if that was a necessary part of the process.
This coincided with the book going off the rails. It degenerated from a tight narrative to a rambling, discursive, slightly unhinged piece of writing.
Dreams are funny things. While all of this was happening I was attending open for inspections for houses for pending sale. On one occasion I pinched some keys, and got in the habit of letting myself into the house with my doppelgänger while no-one was home. On one occasion we entered the house to find a chicken casserole cooking, but no-one about. Like Goldilocks we helped ourselves to so me food, and then left.
The dream ended going around in infuriating circles, but not before I heard some unsettling news. It seemed that my doppelgänger had been going off and doing things I was unaware. Stories came back to me of things I was alleged to have said or done, relationships made and broken. My life, like the narrative I was writing, seemed to be slipping beyond my control…