going forward, how

I am a writer. I write stories for myself. If people asked me, how do you sleep, a question my psychologist loves to ask. My answer was always good. It was not a lie.

I don't know when did this start, but it might start early, earlier than I would like to admit. My recipe of sleeping well is to make up stories as I slip into unconsciousness. It was intensified since my college year. At least that is how I remember now. I am writing this now because like the day I said to myself that my words had dried out. That was in my college year, probably last year. And now, my dream weaving before I slip into a real one has dried up gradually.

Those adolescent dreams. I have no need and heart to describe them here since they were both dry and boring. However, there was one point in the plot line which I was unable to pass through. I think it caused my dream weaving ability to dry up. I will briefly mentioned here. For most of the story, there of course were a boy and a girl. There were processes of these two got acquainted. They of course fell for each other. At first few stories, tragic endings of lives of either boy or girl assumed. After that, a few stories of unknown psychological reasons for boys, who were retarded in showing love. And as time went on, they all lost their chances. This one trend continue until now. I could not find a way to pass the barrier. It is a barrier too wide, too dark, too confusing. I could not find a reason to pass it. I had guts of feeling for those girls. But I could not rationalize to let those boys go forward. Although they were all better looking than me, stronger, smarter, more charming, more talented, taller...etc better than me. Some of them might actually got to kiss and hold girls for a while. But there were no way for them to be united forever. And this makes me crazy. There is no way to go forward! There was no results.

I hit a wall. I could not continue my story. So I created another one, and another one, and another one, and now I am running out of fancies. I don't have many fancies. If I could not tell myself a story to sleep, I have a hard time falling into one.