she doesn't usually remember her dreams, but lately they've been vivid, almost to an alarming degree. full feature films that take place as she sleeps, imparting lingering unease when her eyes blink open. they're impossible to understand and frustratingly strange, leaving her wondering for hours (or sometimes days) what her mind is going through to make her live such fantasies.

"keep a dream journal," she's told, something she adopts perhaps a bit half-heartedly, slightly embarrassed to have a collection of nonsense from her own mind written. seeing the scenes in pen on paper does nothing to help her understand them.

"are you anxious?" she's asked, as if these last few months have been a vacation. as if everyone isn't on edge, scared and dangling from the end of their rope. she knows she's in the ultimate position of privilege, that her personal demons are nothing in comparison, but the world has room for all sorts of challenges. her stress comes and goes in waves, ebbing when she's able to focus on something else but flowing the moment her mind is open for suggestion, so easily overwhelmed by her own worry that she can nearly drag herself down into the swell.

"is there someone who can tell me what they mean?" she questions, though she does nothing with the answer, not really. not unless you count continuing to look for meaning on her own. she concedes that maybe they mean nothing, though she is constantly in search of signs, of what the universe is trying to tell her. carisa has always been a believer.

she wakes up in the morning, pulled from sleep by something that doesn't entirely process in her sluggish mind, and though she's tried to break herself of the habit, she finds herself instinctively reaching for her phone. in truth, she's not really awake yet, and before she's finished a quick scroll through her notifications, she's drifted back off to sleep.

which is why, by the time she actually yawns and stretches, kicking off her covers, she's convinced that she's fully imagined the moment she stumbled on the sign she had been looking for. that she'd had another all too realistic dream, even if this one had distinguished itself by being straightforward - no smoke and mirrors and metaphors here, only a foggy recollection of reading a notification on her phone from one app or another, imparting exactly the wisdom she needs.

the clouds on her mind keep her thoughts overcast for the morning, despite the sunny disposition she woke with, and it isn't until later that she even begins to wonder if maybe it wasn't just a dream and picks up her phone in search.

and there it is, her sign. not a dream, but in print, waiting in her inbox for their chance to be read again, to commit to memory. the method of delivery may not be as abstract, but carisa still believes it's from the universe, and she'll take a true sign however she can get it.

so the tide changes again.