Strange dreams from this morning, inspiration perhaps, so very vivid

 Oh the dreams I had yesterday morning, after a night of sound sleep and relaxed night. How wild, how interesting! I dreamed I was a writer, writing essays, as I sometimes do, about my time in school. Of the things big and small that happened to us there. Turn it into an autobiography, a novel even, a fictionalized version of the wonderful times we had there. A frozen-in-time tale of a place from the early-to-mid 2000's, that was a frozen-in-time replica of a 1980's British boarding school, that was likely itself a replica of the British boarding school tradition of a bygone era. Not all times were good, it wasn't all fun, oh dear it was more of a run! than fun for most people, perhaps most of the times yours truly too. And in retrospect, even the fun times that were bad, were good and bad, things could have gone better. But that's not the point, in hindsight, what tales those were, what wild times, so different from everything else that was going on around us. A closed-off culture, away from the bustle and confusion of a rapidly-changing world. We were fossils, culturally preserved remnants of an era long gone by, unable and ill-equipped to adapt.

My tale would be of a past that never existed for most people. An imagined golden period where time stopped, children could be children without fear or stress, and where all would be fine.