I dreamt lastnight that I, wrote a book, a good book, and it was so good, it got published, I saw my book on the dusty shelves some antique looking library, I had this passion in me, as I dreamt my dream, I can write, I should write. And from yesteryday evening of thinking stuff through, that I've thrown in the backburner for some weeks now, I was happy in my dream, it seemed everything that occured yesteryday evening in me, was replaced by this dream, that's how happy I was. It has never dawned onto me, to write, to write good. Just not mumble jumble words.Yet to try and write well. I feel I have it in me, and it's calling for me.

I feel I have thoughts and ideas, that I need and should explain to people, what do you call this philosophy*?? well I guess one as their own philosophy. I should try reading one of em books.

My books were green, the color of one of the Qurans we have at home, and my publisher told me "Alisha you have this gift, " she had blonde hair. And somehow in my dream, I restablished in myself, that I will make it in this life.