I woke up this morning feeling rather strange. I keep my bed in a small area of my apartment with sliding glass doors and normally I keep them closed because otherwise I get to listen to traffic all night long. In my last apartment in Ottawa, when I lived in the basement of a really old house, I was terrified to sleep most nights for reasons I have yet to figure out, and woke up constantly, sure that my sleep was too heavy and unnatural, that my heart was giving way and that like all the useless words I've spoken to equally unempathetic people--words that have long sinced drowned in extra large cardboard coffee cups with recycled paper sleeves--my breath would sputter out and I would vanish into obscurity.
In any case, I would catch myself before falling entirely asleep, and sure that my sleep was actually death, I would jump out of bed and try to listen to my heart to make sure it wasn't beating too slowly or too quickly. Sometimes my paranoia lasted all night, everynight for days on end. I kept a full-length mirror on my apartment door, which I could see from bed, and sometimes I would glimpse a flash of light (a car's headlights reflecting from my window, no doubt) and become certain that some person had entered my apartment. The light just seemed too like movement and last year, in my advanced state of antisocial behaviour, the idea that something could be moving around in my room while I was trying to sleep (and not die) terrified me beyond belief. I bought a new doorknob with a better lock shortly after--but it really didn't make me feel better. I began sleeping with my face under the covers--and maybe that's why I felt like I couldn't breathe.
Finally, in utter exhaustion, I would convince myself that this wave of sleep coming up was safe, that it was only mild and that I wouldn't die, and if I did, well, why was I so afraid--that I had had the same thoughts the night before and managed alright. And then, everything would come together so perfectly and I could tuck my mind safely under my pillow (for quick retrieval in case of emergency), and the outsides of my eyes woud close so entirely that is felt like they had turned inwards. My floor would be left flooded with this memory of an ideal second--this blissful shutting off of my damn thoughts--that maybe I didn't appreciate as much as I should have, especially given it's fleetingness and the time and energy it generally takes me to mop (metaphysically or otherwise).
Anyway, this morning I woke up feeling paranoid as hell, this feeling that my space had been invaded and that I was surrounded by fog--that maybe the apartment was on fire or that I had left the gas on--of course everything was fine--but for nearly 7AM, I guess it just seemed far too dark outside--I'd have figured it would have been much lighter.
I dreamt last night--many fragments:
I'm sleeping in a very strange room on a very strange bed. It's a huge room with no floor. There are about 10 beds in this room with 9 other undisclosed people sleeping in them. The beds are set up like a sort of puzzle, as they are elevated at different heights and attached to strange metal rods that look like corridors--Kind of like K'Nex or an amusement park ride. I have this overwhelming feeling of not being able to move at all. I am absolutely paralyzed. I have a white sheet over me. Everything looks very clean. I see a mouse crawl up my corridor. I look down and finally see a floor that is covered with mice of all different colors. I am grateful that my bed isn't closer to the floor, though I am beginning to feel some motion sickness, like I'm moving around mid air. The mouse comes closer--I wish it wouldn't. I hate mice. It decides to crawl up my body and despite my efforts to prevent it happening, it crawls into my mouth and down my throat. Another one does likewise several moments later as Mouse #1 begins to eat my stomach from the inside (don't ask me how I know this). Mouse #2 has gone North, however and I'm sure it is eating my brain. Mild discomfort. Some anxiety.
I wake up and take some tylenol. Headache. I take the Prozac (2) for the first time in 3 days....Went back to sleep.
In then next dream, Maya and some guy are about to travel somewhere together. We're all sitting in mom's living room. I am by the fire, feeling annoyed at having to listen to voices when all I want is some quiet. Maya and the guy keep leaving and going together into the bathroom and for whatever reason, they start throwing all the contents of Maya's backpack down the toilet. Sitting in the living room, I realize I have to pee. I finally convince Maya to let me have the bathroom, which I am ever grateful to use. I flush. The toilet backs up books, jewelry, clothes, and of course, some lovely sewage. I panic, certain that it's all my fault. I can hear them all talking in the livingroom--Mom is saying something about a funeral and how "they took her urn out into the yard on sunny days, not realizing that in life, she was known for her aversion to bright light." There is laughter. I search madly for a plunger. I start plunging it all down. It's an awful mess and I feel so sick. Finally, it recedes and I am relieved. No mess on the floor. The last thing that comes up and just won't go down again is a library book. What seems like a long time passes. I just can't return the book, obviously because of where it's been. I write the librarian an anonymous letter and the librarian tells me to send him a Barbie and Ken doll wrapped in yellow paper and labeled B & K in black marker.
I wake up having to use the bathroom and with a really sore neck. It's 7am at this point (the same 7am mentioned earlier) and I have a really strange feeling of loneliness and complacency. It's an odd mix.
It's 2:16am..Taking a sleeping pill soon.
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