A Dream Less Comfortable
Sunday, July 20, 2008
A Dream Less Comfortable
I squinted at the bedside clock in my bedroom that was drenched in my artificial darkness, the dark curtains have certainly proved its worth. It was half to six in the afternoon, a storm has just passed through this side of the island outside my window, leaving a wet and soggy trail behind and a smell of moist in the air. Even with the windows closed, I could smell the lingering rain, and the lingering dream and came to me in the darkness of my room and within the comfort of my bed. So much for the comfort, for it brought little warmth to ease my pain. Like covering myself with sandbags in the blistering cold, the small and desperate remedy helped little in wearing away the demon of the dreams. You see, it wasn't so much about the dream being a nightmare, but because it was so good that the reality felt almost insufferable. My heart throbbed in my chest and the side of my head ached, and my tongue felt so rough against the roof of my mouth that it could have been like liking sand paper. It wasn't the best way to wake up from an afternoon nap, and certainly too good a dream to leave behind after two hours of pseudo-reality that existed only in my mind.
I squinted at the bedside clock in my bedroom that was drenched in my artificial darkness, the dark curtains have certainly proved its worth. It was half to six in the afternoon, a storm has just passed through this side of the island outside my window, leaving a wet and soggy trail behind and a smell of moist in the air. Even with the windows closed, I could smell the lingering rain, and the lingering dream and came to me in the darkness of my room and within the comfort of my bed. So much for the comfort, for it brought little warmth to ease my pain. Like covering myself with sandbags in the blistering cold, the small and desperate remedy helped little in wearing away the demon of the dreams. You see, it wasn't so much about the dream being a nightmare, but because it was so good that the reality felt almost insufferable. My heart throbbed in my chest and the side of my head ached, and my tongue felt so rough against the roof of my mouth that it could have been like liking sand paper. It wasn't the best way to wake up from an afternoon nap, and certainly too good a dream to leave behind after two hours of pseudo-reality that existed only in my mind.
It took a few moments to gather myself, and I asked for a few moments more after the ones before ended. It was strange, to recall just how little that dream felt like a dream, but more like a memory of sorts. You know how it is with dreams, you usually wake up and you know which part of that dream didn't make much of a sense at all, that you should have noticed them if you were actually conscious about yourself being in a dream. You would have noticed the absurdities, but there wasn't anything amiss in my afternoon trip to dreamland, nothing that could have pointed itself out that it was merely the product of my brain in slumber. Perhaps it tapped into the part of my brain that governed those memories, like finding a lost family home video in the attic, stuffed underneath boxes of old clothes and toys. It does bring bad memories, mostly beautiful and innocent memories. The worst part is always the waking up, when you know that the beautiful and the innocent has been lost forever through the sands of time, swallowed like an unwary adventurer in the Amazons into quicksand. You reach in too deep, and the quicksand takes you along with it too. And I was taken, taken away, taken within.
I bore myself to even think about such things these days, and I find more interest in watching the drivers downstairs trying to get out of their cars in the pouring rain. Or the fireworks down South in the city as they exploded into a vibrant display of colors in the storm. So proud of itself and so sure, so confident that even with the rain sweeping across the lands, the audience would still brave mother nature and look up into those explosions in the skies. I find more interest in sights like that these days, always in the present now and seldom backwards. Those rewinding moments take place only in my dreams now, and they have been occurring much more often these days that it is making me feel slightly uncomfortable. Just slightly, because the feeling wears off quickly most of the time, and a wash of the face in cold water and a few jumping jacks in the bedroom usually helps. It wakes me up, it takes away the lingering dreams. I speak as much as I think about it these days, which isn't a lot to begin with. Mostly to myself in the middle of the night, in the cover of darkness where I feel the most confident and less like a coward.
But dreams, those nasty little dreams. They are beyond your governing, they are out of your control. What you do in reality matters little when you drift off into his realms, he takes away all your efforts to look ever forward, to look never backwards. Forget about the cold face wash and the jumping jacks, the dreams take you to wherever it'd like you to go and for as long as it desires. Hours or days could pass in a dream that lasts for merely a few minutes in real-time, and sometimes I wonder about the possibility of being trapped in one. Well, if I were to be trapped in one, then the one I had in the afternoon wouldn't be half bad. It wouldn't, because I know I felt great in that dream, I felt like I was before, and you were smiling too. I haven't heard a breath from you, but that's fine. I have my dreams taking care of me from time to time, and there you'd be waiting without fail. The hardest part is always the waking up, when the contrast of the real world and the dreams sets in, and you realize that you have lost something all over again.
If only you forced yourself to close your eyes just a few more minutes, maybe those minutes would translate to hours or days in your dreams all over again. Do you think dreams continue if you go back to sleep as soon as you are awake? Like sequels to a blockbuster movie, maybe you'd be able to catch part two just by going back to sleep immediately. But like most sequels out there, perhaps part two wouldn't be as perfect as part one, perhaps it'd turn out to be a horrible nightmare. That is why I've never bothered trying, never tried to go back to sleep despite waking from a dream with you in it. I'd like to remember you that way when I wake, and not go back to a dream less comfortable. I carry on with life, move on from the dream and hope that the mundane things would take me far far away. It helps to forget doesn't it, it helps you to lose your memory. Isn't that why you cannot sleep at night at times, isn't that why you refuse to go to sleep? In sleep, you lose control, in sleep you go back to whence you came. And sometimes the comfort in where you came from scares you in waking, sometimes the contrast is too much for you to take.
You see, I get that a lot, I get that with you. In waking, I lose the kind of reminders that you use to give me from time to time, in your soft-spoken words and your beautifully written lines. But, it's just a dream, a dream less comfortable. Perhaps the next dream would come tonight, a dream that might involve flaming cupcakes and curry shaving blades. Who knows what the mind would bring, who knows where the Sandman would take me. It just saddens me at times, that it is the ones with you that sticks, the ones with us that stays. I'd like to remember flaming cupcakes too, or perhaps flying sewing machines. I am being random here, but anything is better than waking up from a sleep and feeling lonely all of a sudden. You see, my will isn't as strong as it used to be.
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