Sweet dreams when you get there

There were many nights when Corri and I lived together when we would stay up late talking and giggling, making plans for life or just plans for the Best. Lunch. Ever.....until we could hardly keep our eyes open. Sleep was giving us a curfew yet we would beg for "just 10 more minutes" like little kids. Finally giving in and calling it a night, the bedtime checklist was conducted: door locked? lights off? candles extinguished? cats accounted for? and we would head to our rooms. From down the hall I would hear her say to me, "Sweet dreams when you get there" and I would drift off, destination in mind. Except I have never been one to have all that many dreams -- some occasional running through forests dreams and the reoccurring nightmare --but mostly nothing to write home about that I could recall or even feel the imprint of when I woke up the next morning. I trust that they played and I watched without feeling the need to dwell or run an encore the next night. This system was all fine by me. Then I moved into my own place for the first time ever. Dreams have started being remembered, replayed and weigh heavy. Insomnia has become a constant bedfellow.

I'm miserable. Or, at least let's say I liked it better when I didn't remember anything exciting from the night. Sleep and I are at odds. It's like driving in a car a long distance with someone you are fighting with. You've got to acquiesce and know that being in the car is necessary to get you to the destination but it's not the place you are thrilled about spending time.

This past week in particular handed my ass to me on a pillow. It's UNBELIEVABLE how the stupid reoccurring dreams, two actually, are so easily understood and clear when I wake up. I want to stand in line at the dream counter and tell the sales rep that, "Yes, thank you I enjoyed the message and appreciate the opportunity to watch the re-run. Now could you please wrap it up and file it under "CRYSTAL CLEAR" for me?" Thanks.

But yet as I sit here not tired, or not wanting to go have another go around of the same fucking picture film, I know it's all cued up waiting. Cruel.

I wish I had a hallway and at the end of the hall was my fabulous roomie calling out "sweet dreams" because at least I had a fighting chance -- or someone to drag back out on the couch and keep me company through the adventures of Insomnia.