So I tend not to sleep at night. And when I do, it usually isn't very well. I have trouble falling asleep; I sometimes lie awake for so long, I become convinced that I've actually forgotten how to fall asleep. I also have trouble waking up it seems.
That doesn't really make sense. I know.
If I go to sleep without being a little beyond exhausted, I tend to sleep for 10+ hours at a crack. Usually leaning towards 12+ hours. And alarms have been useless all my life. I don't hear them. They don't wake me up. When I finally do wake up, I feel like hell. Everything is sore; my head has exploded into a migraine that can only be dented by what I affectionately refer to as my roofie-colada: two extra-strength Tylenol and an Excendrin migraine.
If I stay awake until I'm on the verge of falling asleep while sitting--hell, sometimes even while standing--I sleep a respectable 7-9 hours and wake up on my own, feeling well rested. Thanks to my free-loading (masquerading as self-employment), I have the freedom to follow my own "natural" sleeping patterns. As you can see I'm awake still, well into the 6a hour.
And now the reason I'm telling you about my sleeping habits. I have very, vibrant dreams. In color. I don't know; I had these ESL classes in high school and learned that apparently only deaf people dream in color. All us hearing bozos are stuck in the 50s with black and white consoles. but not me! *shrugs* Anyway, I've always had very detailed, vibrant dreams. And I wake up remembering them in all their vibrant, detailed... well, I wouldn't call it glory. Especially not in relation to the recurring dreams I have.
I've had them as long as I can remember, and it seems every five to eight years or so, I trade in for a new model. The first one I can remember involved loosed crocodiles at a reptile house like setting that had the equivalent of a Mr. Toad's Wild Ride that ran through it. To finally leave, you had to cross a very long, raised, wooden walkway through a swamp-like place (not unlike the sort in Gatorland, Florida). Whole sections would go missing without warning. I lost many a dreampt up shoe there. I believe this is the reason I was always terrified of Gatorland and to this day am more than a little uncomfortable walking on wooden bridges and walkways.
Then there were the hordes of small, red demonish-creatures that chased me through St. Mary's courtyard, through my house and out my sister's bedroom window which conveniently lead to St. Mary's courtyard (my dreams very rarely make linear sense either in space or time), and I could never make the rendezvous point to meet up with my family. Most things were on fire, and it was very always rather smoky and red-hued.
After that it was being shot in the back--usually by my grandfather. That one was fun, especially since I always saw my grandfather as not only the best man to ever live, but also as my protector. It was also fun because I would wake up convinced I really had been shot, with sharp pains in my back where the bullets had entered that faded swiftly upon waking, like most normal people's dreams.
Then, unless they were so horrific I blocked them out, I enjoyed a long stretch through high school that was free of recurring dreams.
They started again in college and lasted until after we moved to New Jersey. A man in a red shirt would enter the house while I was sleeping, waking me up. He would walk about and open things--the fridge, some cabinets. Scary right? Well apparently it was, because I would be paralyzed; I can only assume from fear. I'd try to call out, even just to ask, "Whose there?," and would be lucky if I could get my mouth to open. Once, in this dream, I managed to almost make it out of bed, but I fell to the floor face first as I tried to stand up, vomiting bile on my way down. Pleasant. I know.
This is my current haunt:He finds me as an adult in happy places from my childhood. Places I'm familiar with. My grandfather's workshop. My old house in Cicero. My childhood friend's backyard. I'm helping with a garage sale and just need to run into the house for something where he finds me, pursues me up the back stairs towards the second floor apartment--always empty when we were kids. The wood of a step gives out. It doesn't matter he is too sinewy and swift to evade for long. I stumble and try to regain my footing. I turn, tears already streaming down my face, he is upon me. He smiles his pointy toothed smile, and if I'm lucky, that is when I wake up.
So you can understand that the less I sleep, the less time I have for uh... ol' blue, here.
But not all my dreams are so sinister. Many--most even--are boring. I have conversations with Vytas on the way to Michael's, wake up, and later comment to Vytas on the conversation I didn't really have with him. I am caught in some love triangle that is less of a love triangle and more of a misunderstanding triangle that is PG enough to be an after-school special. A very few are not PG at all. More than I'd like to admit could be equated to made for TV, Lifetime movies; mushy and melodramatic, I play ALL the roles and see through eyes that are not mine.
Others are too... too ethereal to convey. These are the only ones I have trouble remembering. I'd like to think those are the best.
So! If you made it through this needlessly lengthy post, you not only got to read all about my bizarre sleeping patterns and my life's history in dreams, but you also got to see some non-Timid Monster art, which every now and then I feel compelled to make. Congratulations!