March 22, 2005
My insomnia had settled into a decent pattern of waking up at 1:00 am, and drifting in and out of sleep until about 4:30 am. This was achieved by forcing my mind not to focus on anything when I awoke. Last night looked like it was going to be the same. I floated off to sleep to find myself dreaming about living in a place on the ocean. I was looking out at a beautiful beach watching a spectacular sunrise. After watching nature's closing act for the day I returned to my home. In the wierd way that dreams work (or don't work), I accidentally walked into the wrong house. I excused myself, and in the dream this was apparently not the first time I'd done this. Instead of leaving the way I came in, I walked all the way through the house and out the other door. Now I was near my front door, and went in. All this seemed fairly mundane, and I probably would have remembered none of it, except it then took a turn. Although I remember it, I'll spare you the gory details. I haven't had this kind of dream in a long time.
For whatever reason, I've always had some very disturbing nightmares. When I was fifteen, I learned how to control my dreams to the extent that my subconscious would let me (it's very stubborn about trying to play out what it wants). I still can do this to some extent. My nightmares became less frequent after that. This was a good thing. My most extreme nightmares are the kind of thing that would make Stephen King flinch. There are demons and devils, and all sorts of awful creatures from literature's most frightening stories. For the first time in a couple of years, last night's nightmares were like that. They are always very descriptive and involved, and if I had a talent for writing, I could probably do well compiling a book of short horror stories.
When the battle was going decidedly badly, I awoke in a sweat trying to restablish a link to reality. I slowed my breathing, listening to all the sounds of the house, sure that one of the more terrible creatures was stalking my family. After I calmed down, I drifted off to sleep, certain that the nightmare was over. Strangely, as I started dreaming, I was back at the beach. The house structure had changed a little, and I continued on with the more pleasant part of the dream. Predictably, after a short period, the sky darkened, and the battle continued. This went on for four different sleep intervals, and the journey took me from the beach, to Italy, and to Germany. Fortunately, my subconscious got tired of torturing me, and I managed to have a relatively decent sleep.
About 6:30 am, I began to wake (in a normal fashion). I hadn't opened my eyes, but figured it must be morning. Recalling my nightmares, I suddenly had a feeling that I was being watched. If you've never had that feeling, it is very strange: to actually feel that someone is watching you. I opened my eyes to see a beautiful little blonde-haired girl staring at me... from three inches away. Fortunately, I had regained a hold on reality, and didn't freak.
Annie dreams a lot. I hear her talking in her sleep, and hope that this is not a genetic thing. So far, so good. Yesterday morning, I think she actually woke herself up by talking in her sleep. I was laughing at it a bit, because even in her dreams she is apparently quite bossy. Although the words were unclear (until the end), I could tell by the pattern that she was irritated and informing some poor soul what to do. It must not have been going well, because suddenly she yelled, "I. Mean. NOW!" Then she was awake.
Battle fatigued from sleep
For whatever reason, I've always had some very disturbing nightmares. When I was fifteen, I learned how to control my dreams to the extent that my subconscious would let me (it's very stubborn about trying to play out what it wants). I still can do this to some extent. My nightmares became less frequent after that. This was a good thing. My most extreme nightmares are the kind of thing that would make Stephen King flinch. There are demons and devils, and all sorts of awful creatures from literature's most frightening stories. For the first time in a couple of years, last night's nightmares were like that. They are always very descriptive and involved, and if I had a talent for writing, I could probably do well compiling a book of short horror stories.
When the battle was going decidedly badly, I awoke in a sweat trying to restablish a link to reality. I slowed my breathing, listening to all the sounds of the house, sure that one of the more terrible creatures was stalking my family. After I calmed down, I drifted off to sleep, certain that the nightmare was over. Strangely, as I started dreaming, I was back at the beach. The house structure had changed a little, and I continued on with the more pleasant part of the dream. Predictably, after a short period, the sky darkened, and the battle continued. This went on for four different sleep intervals, and the journey took me from the beach, to Italy, and to Germany. Fortunately, my subconscious got tired of torturing me, and I managed to have a relatively decent sleep.
About 6:30 am, I began to wake (in a normal fashion). I hadn't opened my eyes, but figured it must be morning. Recalling my nightmares, I suddenly had a feeling that I was being watched. If you've never had that feeling, it is very strange: to actually feel that someone is watching you. I opened my eyes to see a beautiful little blonde-haired girl staring at me... from three inches away. Fortunately, I had regained a hold on reality, and didn't freak.
Annie dreams a lot. I hear her talking in her sleep, and hope that this is not a genetic thing. So far, so good. Yesterday morning, I think she actually woke herself up by talking in her sleep. I was laughing at it a bit, because even in her dreams she is apparently quite bossy. Although the words were unclear (until the end), I could tell by the pattern that she was irritated and informing some poor soul what to do. It must not have been going well, because suddenly she yelled, "I. Mean. NOW!" Then she was awake.
Battle fatigued from sleep