Writing dreams to dreams on writing

There have been countless nights when i have woken up with this desire to write whatever i had been seeing in a dream, to hold on to the sights perched perilously on the lashes of my sleepy eyes and to give them the identity of written words. But as soon as i switch on the light, they seem to dissolve in the vividness of the surroundings as if silently acknowledging their insignificance to a higher reality all ready to set in. Suddenly there are no visions to contemplate, no words to ruminate over but the materiality of objects around staring at me. The surreality is all lost to a blink.
I have long nurtured this habit of sleeping with books surrounding me in a pile by the pillow. I can't say the reason for sure but guess it has something to do with one of those childhood fancies of mine. I would sleep with my textbooks around thinking that would obviate the need for a revision afterwards. It makes me laugh to think about it. But then such is the nature of childhood. Lately I have started keeping a diary and a pen by my side thinking someday i will have the patience to sit up and brood and may be pen down something. But my lumbering pace with words has always lost to the effervesence that thoughts are. May be when i grow a little old and when my mental faculties slow down as days and years in me pile up, the twain shall meet. And I will write.