I wish I dreamed of
kittens
or yarn shops
or sitting around the dinner table with people I love

Instead, I dream of
searching for things I can't find
running from some vague threat

Even when my dreams aren't like a sky full of thunderheads, they are like
a Wes Anderson movie

except I wake up before the redemption scene
And I have even more difficulty keeping all the characters and their relationships straight.

Or else, I dream of everyday life
of being in front of the classroom
of having people tell me they "need" me to do something
of fielding uncomfortable phone calls

and I wake up more exhausted than I was before bed

I read somewhere that people on Prozac or Paxil or something don't dream
(or at any rate, they don't remember their dreams); once I said that
that would drive me mad.

But now, it seems kind of welcoming - to fall into sleep
like a rock into a springfed pool
to sink down until morning, thoughtless, worryless, a blank slate
and not have to wake and wonder, "What the hell was THAT all about?"




Yeah, I'm not sleeping well again. I'm guessing that sometime between Friday and Sunday, the ragweed started flowering - this dysphoria and "leave me alone"-ness that I'm feeling is very characteristic of hay fever for me.

(And another depressing thing: Wes Anderson is the same age as I am. Yet another person born in 1969, like Alain de Botton, who is actually doing something with their life that they will be remembered for.)