The ocean meets the sky in equal colors this morning. Without the delineation of an horizon, it’s hard to image there is anywhere to go. I don’t mind, because here is as good as anywhere. This place on the edge of the world is not Philomath, so I’m all right.
Maybe one night in a thousand I will lie on the futon and stare at the blank ceiling, most likely because I ate something which did not like me. Nine hundred ninety-nine nights out of a thousand, my head hits the pillow and I’m gone. I sleep easily.
I don’t know that I sleep well. I’m not sure what constitutes good sleep, because nothing ever happens during my nocturnal activities to provide benchmarks.
Over the past thirteen years, I talked with people and tried various techniques to help me remember my dreams. So far, nothing works. Every night, around two or three, I uncover myself, get off the futon, and go to the bathroom. That moment, aware I am about to get up, would be the perfect moment to identify a dream, but when I look between the fatty folds of gray matter in my skull I find nothing. Whatever swam through my head behind closed eyes instantly vanishes.
I go to the bathroom, sometimes, I think, while still asleep, and when I return to the futon, recover myself, and close my eyes, I fall instantly to sleep.
It goes like that, nine hundred ninety-nine nights out of a thousand nights.
When I wake in the morning, I never feel rested. My mood slops like black goo through whatever thoughts of the day begin to enter my head.
I did not dream last night. I did navigate to the rear of the motorhome to use the toilet. As always, I searched for indications of a dream, but found only:
- “The floor is cold,”
- “don’t stub your toe,”
- “don’t wake T~ by rocking the Trolley when you fall onto the toilet.”
I woke this morning to a warm Chihuahua tucked into my armpit, the patter of rain, the cackle of crows, gray light filtered through the overhead vents, and a stormy sea with no horizon when I looked out the window.
All that filled my head when I got up:
- “the floor is cold,”
- “this is cool,”
- “let T~ and the female Chihuahua sleep a while longer,”
- “wow, this is cool.”
I harnessed and leashed a little male Chihuahua. “Come on, boy, let’s go outside.” I took my little man out in the rain to go potty. I was in a good mood.
(It took awhile to write this post. My thoughts kept looking toward the window to watch the ocean. All I could think: “Wow, this is cool.”)