(no subject)
I made the mistake of being really excited about how well I slept two nights ago, when I set up my box fan in my bedroom. The lovely 3 a.m.-bird-chirp-obliterating white noise, the gentle breeze, the 2 degree drop in bedroom temperature: it was awesome, and I slept like a baby. (Why do we say that? Don't babies wake up every two hours and poop on themselves? Is that seriously what we're striving for?) Anyway, illogical similes aside, I slept really well that night, and was really happy about it.
So last night I had the exact same set-up, and seriously? Worst sleep ever. I spent the night alternating between dreams about whooshing water and hiding under my covers to block the Arctic fan blast from my face. I also dreamt that I had to walk uphill against the wind to a wedding in a horribly constrictive ball gown, which I guess means I overcocooned my legs in blankets at some point to protect them from frostbite. (It also implies that my subsconscious doesn't know me at ALL, because hello, ball gown? Seriously?) I considered turning the fan off, of course, but by then it was 3:30 and the mysterious nocturnabirds were already chirping incessantly, and I had to decide whether the fan annoyance was worse than the possible charges from the SPCA when I went outside to pop their chirpy little heads off. I did eventually get up and face the fan in a different direction, but that somehow led to the airflow ricocheting around the room and blowing the stacks of paper by my bed around the room like letters from Hogwart's.
Is there a lesson to be learned here? Probably, but I'm too fucking sleepy to figure it out.
So last night I had the exact same set-up, and seriously? Worst sleep ever. I spent the night alternating between dreams about whooshing water and hiding under my covers to block the Arctic fan blast from my face. I also dreamt that I had to walk uphill against the wind to a wedding in a horribly constrictive ball gown, which I guess means I overcocooned my legs in blankets at some point to protect them from frostbite. (It also implies that my subsconscious doesn't know me at ALL, because hello, ball gown? Seriously?) I considered turning the fan off, of course, but by then it was 3:30 and the mysterious nocturnabirds were already chirping incessantly, and I had to decide whether the fan annoyance was worse than the possible charges from the SPCA when I went outside to pop their chirpy little heads off. I did eventually get up and face the fan in a different direction, but that somehow led to the airflow ricocheting around the room and blowing the stacks of paper by my bed around the room like letters from Hogwart's.
Is there a lesson to be learned here? Probably, but I'm too fucking sleepy to figure it out.