Sunday Scribblings Post-Prompt "Messenger"
Messenger
I'm asleep, in our bed, which is warm and huge. It has to be to accommodate his height during those times when he decides that he needs between ninety and ninety-five percent of our bed while he's sleeping. Tonight is not one of those times. Instead, he's wrapped himself around me in the familiar position I've affectionately dubbed “The Spider Monkey.” Essentially, he's wound his arms and legs around me so thoroughly that our morning alarm is going to be the only effective means of extraction. It's a good thing that I usually find the position I'm going to be sleeping in early in the night. Once I get comfortable, that's pretty much where I'm staying on the bed, he just works his way around that until he falls asleep.
I dream in color. This is something that I have known for a very long time. Not everyone does, so when I found out about that, I became very aware of the colors in my dreams. I also keep a log of the dreams that I remember. It's rare that a dream becomes so vivid for me that I get aware enough of it to remember it. When I do, I always find myself thinking “this is odd, I must be dreaming. Since I'm dreaming it and I'm aware that I'm dreaming it, I must remember this.” Then, when I wake up, I write down as much of the dream as I remember in as much detail as I possibly can.
When this dream hits, I ride it out, taking note of as much as I can in the dream and what happens during it. Once it finishes, I jolt awake, jarring hard against his chest. He answers with a soft, annoyed grunt and attempts to wrap a little bit tighter around me. Once I'm awake, I don't want the dream to fade. I strain towards my nightstand and find myself too entangled with him to attempt to even turn on the light. Then, I realize that I am faced with a dilemma, wake him up or risk losing what I remember of that dream.
Remembering the dreams is important to me. Sometimes, I dream entire plotlines for stories. Other times, they're inspirations for projects or writing that have to gestate a little bit. I feel, sometimes, like the dreams that I remember are vitally important messages and if I ignore them or forget them then I'll end up lost or floundering. I make a vague noise of displeasure and try to figure out how I'm going to get this dream transcribed.
Every attempt I try to make to get to the notebook and pen just results in him moving just enough to make sure that I can't go anywhere. I finally manage to wriggle onto my back, but one of his arms is draped over my throat and his hand is clasped around mine, which I've managed to at least get up onto the pillow next to my head. I try the helpless fish flop a couple of times, in the futile hope that I can either dislodge him or that maybe that will wake him up enough so that he'll move. He does move. He snuggles closer.
I find myself getting dangerously close to letting out a yell of frustration, which will definitely wake him up, but it's going to scare him and then he'll spend the rest of the day being freaked out and upset because I not only disrupted his sleep schedule, I made him think something bad had happened to me. So, I lie there in the dark and remind myself that I love him, slowly going over a list of all the reasons why in my head while mentally screaming at him to just let me go so I can write.
I've just reached the decision to try waking him as gently as I possibly can, so he can hopefully go right back to sleep. Instead, the alarm goes off, the blaring messenger of my salvation, or at least the harbinger of the dream transcription.
I'm asleep, in our bed, which is warm and huge. It has to be to accommodate his height during those times when he decides that he needs between ninety and ninety-five percent of our bed while he's sleeping. Tonight is not one of those times. Instead, he's wrapped himself around me in the familiar position I've affectionately dubbed “The Spider Monkey.” Essentially, he's wound his arms and legs around me so thoroughly that our morning alarm is going to be the only effective means of extraction. It's a good thing that I usually find the position I'm going to be sleeping in early in the night. Once I get comfortable, that's pretty much where I'm staying on the bed, he just works his way around that until he falls asleep.
I dream in color. This is something that I have known for a very long time. Not everyone does, so when I found out about that, I became very aware of the colors in my dreams. I also keep a log of the dreams that I remember. It's rare that a dream becomes so vivid for me that I get aware enough of it to remember it. When I do, I always find myself thinking “this is odd, I must be dreaming. Since I'm dreaming it and I'm aware that I'm dreaming it, I must remember this.” Then, when I wake up, I write down as much of the dream as I remember in as much detail as I possibly can.
When this dream hits, I ride it out, taking note of as much as I can in the dream and what happens during it. Once it finishes, I jolt awake, jarring hard against his chest. He answers with a soft, annoyed grunt and attempts to wrap a little bit tighter around me. Once I'm awake, I don't want the dream to fade. I strain towards my nightstand and find myself too entangled with him to attempt to even turn on the light. Then, I realize that I am faced with a dilemma, wake him up or risk losing what I remember of that dream.
Remembering the dreams is important to me. Sometimes, I dream entire plotlines for stories. Other times, they're inspirations for projects or writing that have to gestate a little bit. I feel, sometimes, like the dreams that I remember are vitally important messages and if I ignore them or forget them then I'll end up lost or floundering. I make a vague noise of displeasure and try to figure out how I'm going to get this dream transcribed.
Every attempt I try to make to get to the notebook and pen just results in him moving just enough to make sure that I can't go anywhere. I finally manage to wriggle onto my back, but one of his arms is draped over my throat and his hand is clasped around mine, which I've managed to at least get up onto the pillow next to my head. I try the helpless fish flop a couple of times, in the futile hope that I can either dislodge him or that maybe that will wake him up enough so that he'll move. He does move. He snuggles closer.
I find myself getting dangerously close to letting out a yell of frustration, which will definitely wake him up, but it's going to scare him and then he'll spend the rest of the day being freaked out and upset because I not only disrupted his sleep schedule, I made him think something bad had happened to me. So, I lie there in the dark and remind myself that I love him, slowly going over a list of all the reasons why in my head while mentally screaming at him to just let me go so I can write.
I've just reached the decision to try waking him as gently as I possibly can, so he can hopefully go right back to sleep. Instead, the alarm goes off, the blaring messenger of my salvation, or at least the harbinger of the dream transcription.