I love to sleep. I mean, I really do. I love taking naps. I love sleeping in till mid-late morning. I love how the pillow conforms to my head and the fleece blanket is light but warm enough to keep my cozy. My bed is definitely a sanctuary. In fact, my room when ten o’clock to eleven o’clock rolls around transforms into a separate world from the rest of the planet. I like to think of my bedroom as a space ship having crash landed on an alien planet, and inside this space is all my necessary elements for personal survival. I have my collection of note books and journals, my easel and oils, my candles and fragrances and my posters. I have my computer here where I do the majority of my writing and anti-social activities like play an addicting game on facebook. I do not really like to admit that I play a hidden-pictures game, but I do and find it extremely relaxing. I refuse to let it rule my life currently, but tomorrow is a new day after all. Anyways, I did not want to get into that. You should know that I love to sleep. Perhaps it is more than just the need for rest that compels me to sleep as much as I do. Honestly, I think that I sleep because I love to dream, and my dreams end up as the fodder for many poems and stories that I write.
I had a dream the other day that involved my friends, but for the life of me, I can’t remember any of the details. Isn’t that the most frustrating thing in the world? As a human, I marvel at the functionality of our brains, but it totally baffles me how I can have this killer dream that I KNOW would be the perfect story or poem or painting, but when I wake up and return to the world of the living, the dream has melted and not even a lingering whisper of what it was is left behind in my conscious mind. Perhaps it is suspended somewhere in my subconscious like a bowl of whipped cream with cherries buried in it that requires a decent spoon to dig them out. I don’t fancy the idea of someone scooping out my subconscious with a spoon, however, so I can resign myself to be satisfied with the dreams I do remember and not let frustrations rule my perspectives.
For a large majority of people, I have come to understand that 11:30-Midnight is not very late, but for me, I feel like a zombie currently in search of a comfy grave to rest my restless bones. I wanted to write a long post about sleeping and dreaming, and instead have fallen away from that goal to tell you about how sleepy I currently am. Is this an example of blogging in the moment? I don’t know. All I know is that the pile of crumpled up blankets and disfigured pillows on my bed is singing a lullaby that makes my fingers heavy and my eyeballs droop. The honeycomb candle flickering on my desk and causing shadows dance for me along the walls is lulling me to sleep as well. So, dearies, I think it is time for me to say goodnight and wish for you most pleasant dreams (that you can remember in the morning), and sign off for the day. I need to plug in my brain charger.