I’ve been told things in my dreams. Things that I’m not intelligent enough to think while I’m awake. I once had a dream tell me that a person I barely knew would become important in my life. It was true. That same dream ended with a moral. Sometimes, life is not about coming up with the solution as much as it is about being part of the story. I know, pretty clever. I wish I’d come up with it.
The cats switch places during the night, each one of the three taking turns to curl up on my chest or my back or my side, depending on how I’m lying. I have so many dreams throughout the night, I wonder if I’m not sharing theirs. But how do they know to cry when I’m shouting someone’s name as that person walks away, disgusted by inability to love? Perhaps they are the person walking away and are trying telepathically to tell me that I need to hold them now. But I never have a problem showing affection. I merely have a problem believing it.
My favorite dreams are the ones with the music. The melody is always sweet and tender, and lulls me into meditation the following morning. I work to capture the tune on piano or guitar or with my own voice, but my attempts are futile. I do not hold the talent to unlock the magic. It seems such a waste that no one will ever get to hear the music that I hear. It’s beautiful. One day I will learn to share.
I do not like the nights when I have no dream. Those nights make my life not worth sleeping through.
The reason for human existence? Nailed it. It came to me in a dream starring Angelina Jolie. I actually had to write that one out so that I remember. Here are my notes:
God made the Earth perfect. It was in a complete state of homeostasis. But it was dull.
The land was arid and dry. God made it rain for days. Each raindrop possessed an individual soul. The souls would enter the ground and fertilize the earth. As each raindrop is different, each soul is different.
As the rain falls, the earth turns from dust to a grassy Eden. The souls turn from grass to animals to humans.
We were purposely spread apart. The reason for our existence is to gather our contrasts into compromises, to love each other for our differences. To be individual raindrops that combine together to form one ocean.
I am a raindrop. I compromise. Perhaps too often, but that is what I was told to do. I may not believe in religion or worldly powers, but who am I to question what I’ve been told by a deity who controls my thoughts when I’m not thinking?
My bed is uncomfortable. It used to be great. Then a too-big, too-drunk man fell into it after a night of drinking without me. It’s a strong word, but I hate that man. I get to hate him for all that he did to me. All of what I became that is negative came from him.
I shouldn’t say that because it’s not true. Most of my negativity comes from him. Another man is responsible too. I’ve been told by people that if I let go of the hate for both of them then my negativity will fall away. I dislike those people.
The uncomfortable bed is also my fault. I should clean my room. The fitted sheet isn’t on completely and rolls under me during the night. But it’s hard to put on a fitted sheet by yourself. It makes me sad. There should be someone here to help. That was the plan.
Plans, too, are also like assholes, but in the gender form. Plans pretend that they’ll be around and will come into fruition if you work hard enough. Plans are liars, because they leave at the first excuse to do so. If you ever hear me say, “That sounds like a nice plan,” I am being sardonic.
I suffer from sleep paralysis. You may have heard of it. My mind is awake, but I cannot move my body. I sense someone or something is in the room. I try to turn my head to see, but I can’t. I can’t even open my eyes. Some say it is a common nightmare. But it’s real. All I want to do is wake up and turn on a light. Not that it ever helps. Even with the light on, I can feel someone hover over me once I fall asleep. I try to scream, but my mouth won’t move. My voice is suffocated. I cry. I tell myself that it’s only a dream. Then it worsens. The sounds begin. A laugh, a scuffle. I try to think of other things. Then I hear the voices of everyone who has ever taunted me, like I’ve just hit play on a voice recorder that was set to record my entire life. Sometimes it’s friendly voices of nice things people have said to me. All the same, I wish they would be quiet.
Have you ever awakened exhausted? You probably forgot to breathe while you slept. I’ve woken with a howl and realized I’d been holding my breath. I don’t know why. I can’t hold my breath for very long when I’m awake. It seems that I’m much more talented when I sleep.
Perhaps I should not share these things. But I never know what’s right or wrong, so I will keep going. Tell me, does that bother you?
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