What Dreams May Come
Okay, so when Hamlet uttered those words, he was talking about death and what follows. I'm not going to be quite so emo about it.
Sometimes, I think the good dreams are worse than the bad ones. You can wake up from the worst nightmares and think, "It was just a dream." It will follow you for a while, but it will eventually fade. The light of day (in some cases, several days) will eventually ease the apprehension and fears inspired.
But the good ones can be much worse. It's the truly wonderful dreams I speak of. Dreams in which your heart's desire is fulfilled. Dreams in which the one thing that could make your life perfect happens (bad grammar, I know). In short, the kind of dream you never want to wake from.
But then you wake. And then you think, "It was just a dream. My God, why was it just a dream?" The day goes on, but the light which quelled the lingering tendrils of the nightmare only serve to reveal this dream in starker detail. And then it's been a week, and you still can't shake it. You go through each day, knowing, thanks to the dream, what you could have---what you feel you should have---and yet also knowing that it's beyond your grasp.
You feel anger, frustration, resentment. You can't think straight. It consumes you.
I'll take good old dreamless sleep any day.
Or night. Whatever.
Sometimes, I think the good dreams are worse than the bad ones. You can wake up from the worst nightmares and think, "It was just a dream." It will follow you for a while, but it will eventually fade. The light of day (in some cases, several days) will eventually ease the apprehension and fears inspired.
But the good ones can be much worse. It's the truly wonderful dreams I speak of. Dreams in which your heart's desire is fulfilled. Dreams in which the one thing that could make your life perfect happens (bad grammar, I know). In short, the kind of dream you never want to wake from.
But then you wake. And then you think, "It was just a dream. My God, why was it just a dream?" The day goes on, but the light which quelled the lingering tendrils of the nightmare only serve to reveal this dream in starker detail. And then it's been a week, and you still can't shake it. You go through each day, knowing, thanks to the dream, what you could have---what you feel you should have---and yet also knowing that it's beyond your grasp.
You feel anger, frustration, resentment. You can't think straight. It consumes you.
I'll take good old dreamless sleep any day.
Or night. Whatever.