Lately, I’ve been having the most exquisite dreams while sleeping. Ironically, they’re exquisite for reasons I can’t even describe. More accurately, I can’t seem to remember anything specific about any of them. I just know that they are good.
I know that they are good because I feel a moment of dread when my alarm clock jolts me out of my slumber each morning. Dread because I’m drained. Mentally. Physically.
This moment lasts only a split second, thankfully, as if I’ve just been unhooked from the Matrix and am returning to reality. But it’s there. And then I get on with my day of teaching.
I think this phenomenon is strange. When I’m not as stressed or taxed, I seem to be able to sleep and recall dreams with ease. It just seems normal to be able to do so. You sleep, you dream, you remember your dream, you imagine. Recently, the traces of dreams have been deleted from my memory. It’s perplexing.
The dream deletion probably has something to do with the amount of sleep I’m (not) getting.
I know this because I see so much more magic in my bed than I ever used to. It is just too persuasive these days. Each night, as my eyes droop and my brain fizzles, it beckons me. And even though fall cool has made way for winter cold I feel that I haven’t enjoyed my bed’s comforting warmth enough. A soft comforter enveloping my body is the best thing imaginable.
Before the sun even rises I wake my mind up, hop into the shower to wake the rest of the body up, and then I hop out and long for my bed again. Bed. Bed. Bed. But then I go to school. And teach. And then think about bed.
My eyes are drooping now. My brain fizzled a few hours ago. The bed summons me again. Once more, I let the dreams take over. Hopefully I’ll be able to remember one soon.