I awoke furious with someone who’d wronged me in a dream. I couldn’t recall what they’d done, exactly, but it was definitely egregious and done with the intent of being so. It had woken me up from a deep sleep too, a rare thing recently – so add that to the list for this prick.
A good ten minutes it took me to talk myself down.
It’s hardly their fault what’s going on in my psyche, is it? I told myself.
You’re angry at a swirl of your own subconscious, you bellend. It wasn’t them that did something dreadful and woke you up in a drowsy frenzy, it was your own troubled mind.
Problem was, I was also annoyed with this person in real life too, I think. I’d just not realised it. But for something completely unrelated to the dream thing.
I still couldn’t remember what the dream thing was, of course, but I did definitely know somehow that it was completely unrelated.
That’s dreams for you – elusive certainty.
Unpicking the justified IRL anger (which was to be acknowledged and properly processed in the morning) from the completely unfair dream anger (which was to be immediately forgiven and forgotten as it was my own invention) was what took so long. Especially at such an ungodly hour.
My watch was blank, so I knew it was before 7. I gave it a tap, 4:23 it dimly confessed.
Same as last night.
Why always 4:23? Like, exactly 4:23. I mean, not always, but even two nights in a row that’s weird.
Like a visitation. From what, I couldn’t say. But something.
The negotiations began. If I fall back asleep now, I’ll get another solid couple of hours. I won’t, of course, but that’s the theory.
I tried to figure out the optimal toilet strategy. Autumn’s finally kicked in, not far to the en suite, but if I get up in this cold I’ll definitely be fully awake. Then there’s no way I’ll be back asleep before, say, 5:15.
But I think I need a wee a bit already. Do I? Either way, there’s no way I’ll get beyond 6 without having to get up if I don’t go now. Even if I don’t really need one I should pre-empt.
It’s warm. It’s comfy here. It’s safe. It is empty, but it’s safe. I’ll just stay here.
But I won’t get to sleep anyway, the need will just keep creeping up, nagging. If I do start to drift off I’ll only have another stupid fucking dream where I’m searching unsuccessfully for a toilet, or I’m just endlessly pissing behind a tree to no relief.
That would be almost as annoying as the egregious shit that prick did to me. Whatever it was. I wish I could remember. It doesn’t matter because it wasn’t real, but why can’t I remember?
Another tap on the wrist. 4:57. Half an hour lost to my bullshit already.
I’ll go for a wee.
5:02 now. Still an hour and 45 possible if I’m quick about it.
Real life creeps in with the daylight. Birdsong the harbinger.
Harder to talk your way down from the real stuff than the misshapen fragments of a dream.
5:28. Is it even worth bothering now? Don’t look at your phone or it’s over. You’re definitely done then.
5:37. Feels like an age after this before I’m asleep again, but no more taps of the wrist, so I must have made it.
I turned my wrist and it brightly announced 7:13.
I got up, went to the bathroom and sat down. My watch buzzed to proudly congratulate me on achieving my sleep goal.