Another night of vigorous dream surfing, riding waves of vision, premonition, and prognostication, but thankfully never forewarning, negative omen, or dire augury, my future long or short seems ever brightly lit, at least until tomorrows expectedly audacious ride.
Each passage to the shore of wakefulness is relatively short, perhaps an hour maybe two, followed by a moment of consciousness before the adventurous pursuit continues. Each land fall in inclined to find me hungry, or parched, or perhaps just needing to ease cramped muscle and joint. I seldom appease these urges, rather simply laying in a kind of stupor till sleep once more impels me out to sea.
This last time, with little to no prevarication, my stirring conscience conceded to a sneaky trip to the refrigerator for sir, and the making of a tasty two egg mushroom omelet, to be consumed with the aid of a slice of Hovis toast, satisfying the ravenous sealion discovered laying within.