Insomniacs Who Love to Sleep.
I love sleeping. Not the getting into bed part. Not the falling asleep part. Definitely not the getting up part. Just the stuff in between. The stuff that happens without you really realizing it, but like falling in love, it happens and you realize the true meaning of bliss.
I love waking up at 3 am, and knowing I still have 3 hours to loll about beneath my duvet. I love waking up at 10 am on a Saturday, knowing that I got a full night of rest for once. I love that drowsy, stretchy, sighing feeling that bridges dreamland and consciousness. And I love dreams.
Mostly. Except when they are bad. And sometimes -- even then. Unless they involve spiders.
I think my dreams, as with many people, are the landscape in which I test out certain things in my life: conversations I wish to have, and conversations I fear; experiences I long for, and experiences that petrify me; worst and best case scenarios galore; and hopes and fears written into dialogue by a part of my brain that leaps up as soon as I manage to leave the waking world.
I wish I could write those kinds of plays outside my somnolent state, but fat chance -- I'd never give myself such free reign to be absurd and emotional, unless I could, as with dreams, chalk it up to either freeing my subconscious or an odd trick of body chemistry. After all, my dreams change according to what I eat, sometimes according to how I felt when I went to bed, and sometimes just according to the temperature of my room. I don't know how they change, I just know that they do.
They're an important part of my life, though, these dreams. And telling people about them is freeing, too, because those discussions often lead to them knowing me better, me gaining insight about myself because of their response to my dreams, or them sharing a dream of their own that allows me to get to know them better -- sometimes via the dream itself, and sometimes via their response. All those things are good things.
Some of my friends who claim to be the most uncreative people have the most fanciful dreams, and some of the people I know who could write plays or paint pictures in their sleep -- well, they don't. They claim not to dream about much of anything.
I am not one for dream analysis in the classic psychological sense, but I do love to watch how people respond to their sleep-thoughts. I don't think certain things in dreams have certain origins, or that if you dream a, you must be experiencing b. Call me crazy (you wouldn't be the first), but I don't think our brains make that much sense. Sometimes a dream is clearly the evidence of a fear we have, or a fantasy we have, but I don't think that, say, seeing a mushroom in a dream is evidence that you have unresolved issues with your mom. Symbolism can be taken in weird directions, and not just in experimental theatre.
I dream almost every night, and I remember about half of them. I've never written my dreams down, because some of them just weren't worth it, and the most significant ones -- well, I don't forget them. I figure that if I need to remember it, I will. I sure don't write down everything I think when I'm awake -- imagine lines and lines of "I want a coffee. I like football. I also like the colour green. Why does my toe itch?"
I'm thankful I don't have many nightmares, and VERY thankful that I don't get night terrors. About the most horrifying thing I do in my sleep is fart. which will be fine until some poor man has to deal with it. Pity him -- for so many reasons besides gas, as well....
Last night, I dreamt that I was a goldfish. Now, before you give me an interpretation that has something to do with the symbolism of water, or a fear of containment, or a desire to spend more time with plastic scuba divers, let me tell you that I was researching getting a goldfish yesterday, and that I ultimately opted not to get one, because the whole rigamarole of getting a proper aquarium set up (in order not to have an unhappy fish) seemed like way too much hassle. I was most struck by the reality that you could do all the right things for your fish, and it would still just float up to the surface and croak, for no reason you could surmise as a non-marine biologist.
That is WAY too much like my love life for comfort.
But alas, I dreamt I was swimming around in a bowl, and that was about it. I didn't interact with other fish, I didn't get fed, I didn't die, I didn't do anything but swim. And when I woke up, I felt really peaceful. I think my brain was just giving me a bit of a break on that one.
See, I am a water baby...I love swimming, and floating, and just being in the water. I float like a buoy (note the spelling! I don't float like a boy...), and could spend hours just bobbing along in total bliss. Being a goldfish was great, because I could just flit around without coming up for air.
And for the first time in a long time, I also slept through the whole night without waking up once (or twice, or 45 times). Kind of like not coming up for air, I guess.
Anyhow, I love sleeping. I don't do it that often. And I dream all the time when I do sleep, and love that too. Last night, I got to do it all, and woke up this morning with a big stretch and a big smile.
Nice.
12:14:30 PM 
|
|
