We all have one purely indulgent thing we like to do. Maybe some of you like to buy shoes or play online poker. Others may find their daily coffee from a favourite vendor an indulgence. Whatever it is, we all have one. Something that makes you feel so good and so guilty at the same time.
For me it’s sleep. That lovely place where nothing bothers you, nothing matters. Your world is a mishmash of scenes and circumstances that make no sense to you, but you don’t mind being chased by a two legged cat with a cigar, because you know it’s only a dream, and you’ll wake up and try to explain the madness in your brain, which will make the people around you laugh.
However, I have learned the hard way that when trying to explain these dreams, if I manage to get a laugh, it’s AT me, not with me. Face it – dreams rarely make sense.
My friend Mitzie Dunkirk told me that she looks forward to getting up every morning at around 5 a.m. because it is the most peaceful part of her day, when nobody needs anything from her (Um, hello?, it’s pretty peaceful when you’re s-l-e-e-p-i-n-g). The only thing I ever look forward to at 5 a.m. anymore is letting the cat out so I can go back to sleep for a few more hours.
A couple of weekends ago, a soccer coach had the unfortunate luck to phone my house at 7:45 on a Saturday morning (I hear your collective gasp). Peter was in Toronto, so this poor coach never stood a chance against the sleeping- princess-awakened-before-her-time-turns-into-harpy-from-hell-with-scary-voice.
After asking quite politely if Peter was around and after I answered just as politely that he was in Toronto, the harpy took over and reminded him of the time and day of his call, saying “not cool”. I wasn’t rude, I was desperate.”Not cool” are two words that mean it’s-Saturday-morning-and-why-aren’t-YOU-asleep-and-if-I-don’t-hang-up-now-I-can’t-be-responsible-for-my-actions?. When it sounds like you’ve been gargling razor blades, you can bet that “not cool” can sound pretty tough.
When the same coach showed up to pick up some soccer equipment, he apologized profusely, explaining that his clock in the workshop hadn’t been reset since Daylight savings, and he’d been up that morning since 5.
And then he nearly killed me with his next statement: “Sometimes I get up at 2 or 2:30 because I just can’t sleep anymore.” I remind him that there are many remedies for a sleepless night, but he brushed me off. “I don’t need the sleep.”
It hit me then that I almost wished I could be like him. Not needing the sleep, naming complete wakefulness at 5 a.m. as one of my strengths, tackling pre-dawn chores with manic energy. . . so NOT gonna happen. I wouldn’t have time for any more dreams of cigar wielding, two-legged cats, and I don’t think I’m ready to be done with my bizarre dreams just yet, and hey, I prefer to sleep for my country(ies).
