I Should Be Sleeping Like A Log
Housesitting again in Bellevue for the next two weeks. Actually, it's a pretty good gig for a guy whose normal living arrangements would make an Apollo Command Module feel spacious by comparison, but it does have some odd effects on my system.
For example, sleeping is a bit of a challenge. Over the past two and a-half years, I've become accustomed to a variety of environmental patterns; lapping waves, (sometimes not so) gentle rocking, the clanking of halyards against masts, the white-noise drone of I-5 traffic from across the lake, the faintly organic smell of the water, cats jumping on me at odd hours, that sort of thing.
In Bellevue, I've got none of this. The room is pitch dark, soundless to the point that I can easily hear the faint gear-meshing of the little alarm clock next to the bed, and there's not even the smallest hint of any rhythmic pitch-and-yaw that usually rocks me into slumber-land. So, it usually takes me several days to adjust to the new conditions, meanwhile I toss and turn as my body expresses a vague dissatisfaction with the current sleeping arrangments.
But, when I do finally fall asleep, I've noticed that my dream states are highly vivid and detailed, and that I can often remember particular dreams for hours or even days; last night two in particular stuck with me, one in which I and several of my friends were going over reams and reams of financial data, influenced no doubt by the forum I attended earlier in the evening dealing with the financial trouble at The Seattle Fringe Festival. The other involved purchasing huge slabs of bloody steaks at a supermarket. Instead of being neatly packaged in stryofoam and shrink wrap, they were just laying on the counter, and the checker would slide the whole thing across the bar-code scanner and throw it in a plastic bag. Then, as I was walking home with the bag of meat dripping blood on my shoes, I encountered the world's biggest outdoor fruit tray. Mountains of quartered oranges, bunches of grapes covering the ground like a carpet, piles of berries strewn across the landscape, all neatly separated by item, but without a pathway between, so that the only way to negotiate the tons of fruit was to simply wade into and over it.
The last thing I can remember thinking before I woke up is that I wish I'd asked the checker to double-bag my side of beef, so I would have had an extra one to scoop up some of the pulpy goodness I was stomping into Spodie beneath my feet.
on 4:49 PM