Creative Writing

I had a dream where I was signing up for a creative writing class.
It was winter in my dream and the sidewalks were covered in ice.
I was pushing an empty stroller and there was a guy in the elevator
who thought I had a baby in it.

There was a baby in my dream who had been left alone in a room
that had a bunch of knives in it. People were judging the parents
and the parenting of the parents because it's not safe.
Then a child had wrapped a cord around their own neck
and I had to frantically remove it, barely saving the child from suffocating.
There were so many little scenes.
Also, I was making a movie in my dream at some point.

Creative writing was one of my favorite classes at school.
Nobody put any restrictions on my writing,
I was restricted in everything else. Writing has been an escape for me.
I'm not sure if the dream was a sign to sign up for a writing class...
None of the other things made any sense. Not that dreams have to make sense.

Maybe the child who was suffocating was my inner child.
Maybe I have to save my inner child from suffocating and dying.
And remove the knives from the room.
Leaving a child alone with knives is a diaster waiting to happen.
Even when a child knows they're not supposed to touch it,
they want to see for themselves why not.

We are judged for how we parent our offspring,
but we're not judged how we parent our inner children.
We let them die off when we grow up, but we still have them, and need them.
Because children know how to be free.
Children know how to use their imaginations. How vivid mine used to be!
Children know how to play and aren't caught up with politics.
We start learning stuff from adults as we grow up
who aren't in touch with their inner children.
Playing with my son was awesome. We had some fun.
Why do we get too old to play? Why is it no longer acceptable for adults?

Anyway, I'm going to go do my morning thing and I'll write more later.