2008-11-15 8:27 a.m.
I've been having lots of dreams at night. I hate dreaming. Dreaming distracts me and tickles my mind and keeps me from achieving that deep sleep—the sleep like death, the sleep I long for.
I know why my mind is so busy. I'm scared and feeling helpless. Nana and grandpa are in the hospital. Both at the same time. Even in the same hospital. They were on the same floor for a while, but they fought too much and upset one another and had to be separated. Now they can only communicate by phone. But, even that appears to be too much contact for them.
After they talk, each one has to push the button that calls their respective nurse to bring them heart medicines and painkillers to calm them down and keep them from having more heart attacks.
I can't control what happens with them. I'm ok with that. What I'm not ok with is that my sleep is plagued by distracting dreams–strange, silent surrealist art movies that I appreciate but don't understand. I haven't found out how to control my sleep-cinema. My subconscious is ungovernable.
My mind is particularly cloudy this morning. It dances in rhymes. It's telling me that I should have a fortress. It should have at least one buttress. And a mattress. [And a temptress. Or, perhaps an actress? I could have just one of the two, since one often fulfills the requirements of the other.]
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