The anxiety dreams play out like an absurdist suspense film

Yesterday, I was thinking about the dream I’d had a few nights ago of being shot in the head.

I was in Mallorca involved in some sort of espionage. I was shot by a man in civilian clothing while a man wearing an army uniform watched on. They were on opposite sides. I was slumped against a wall watching an exchange between them. After the men had left in separate vehicles, I managed to get to my feet, seemingly undead and entered a bar where I received help. I was taken in a taxi to the place I was staying, a disused farmhouse and I collected together my belongings.

At some point, I was transported to London. I found myself disoriented in an underground shopping arcade. People looked at me strangely and I had persistent pain on the side of my head where I had been shot. I wore a tailored grey suit and a black raincoat but I felt out of time from the people around me. Disoriented, I felt I needed to get to Euston station. I searched for landmarks I recognised but the landscape shifted continuously. At one point I was near the Barbican but couldn’t get close to it because I was frightened of the towers.

I managed to find my way to high ground. To the south, London stretched out below me and to the north, I could see Sheffield in the distance. I sat down on a bench feeling defeated. I don’t remember anything after that.

I don’t think there is anything to understand from this. The only reason it received more thought than any other dream is the fact I was shot in the head and this the only time I can remember this happening.

My escitalopramic dreams are often coherent, very vivid and absurd. Sometimes even the anxiety dreams play out like an absurdist suspense film. The nightmares can be rough, though.

5.51 am. A soft rain is falling sending icy air in through the window. The light is grey. The occasional car passes. I want to be asleep. The brown cat is restless.

I should give in and get up. I’ve been lying here awake for over an hour now.

I should have got up! I fell asleep and dreamed I was cannibalised! First time for that too!

Rainy day. Rainy night. Hardly seems like August. Although, for a change, the dreary weather hasn’t left me depressed more indifferent. Is that an improvement?

Blue morning. 5.53 am. I can’t hear the rain, just your breathing. The light is bluey through the curtains. I can hear the rain now on the window. Another rainy day ahead.

Should I get up? Make a cup of tea and some toast. Or should I try and fall asleep?

6.06 am. Simon’s sitting at his desk with a cup of coffee. It’s another night he hasn’t slept. Outside his fourth floor flat, the landscape is brightening, it is raining and the light is grey. He swallows the rest of coffee. The world is waking up and strangely he feels less alone. He looks out at the rain, the distant hills and cars heading towards town. He goes to the bathroom and brushes his teeth. He gets into bed. He knows he’ll wake up at midday feeling awful but there is something about this time just before falling asleep when everything feels like it’ll be all right.


It has rained all day

It is 13°C in the bedroom. Last week it was 31°C. It is just after midnight. I had the window open, I was enjoying the sound of the cold wind. I have closed it now and put the fan on. I used to hate the sound the fan made made but recently I’ve begun to enjoy its white noise.

The brown cat is sleeping next to me. My neck aches from sleeping, I assume, in an odd position. Probably the current stresses are aggravating it too. Today has been a bad day. I have felt nauseous and low. And you have felt low. It has rained all day. Cool rain. But it’s really depressed me. Two days of greyness.

We fell asleep after dinner. Though, I can’t remember going to bed.  I was going to get up and do some work but I had a sudden attack of low blood pressure turning the world grey and fuzzy and leaving me nauseous.

The fire alarm pips have started again. They sound every 30 seconds or so. I could time them. But I’m not going to. Remember that storm a couple of years ago that tore the felt from the dormer window in our bedroom and it leaked for a few nights before they came and fixed it? I remember the drips became consistent and I was so sleepless and so bored that I counted the drips and worked out how many fell per hour and how many would fall before the leak was fixed. I even worked out velocity of each drop using GCSE physics. I drew the line at going to get the scales to work how much was falling in each drop. But I remember we emptied several buckets worth.

This is ridiculous. I’m tempted to get up and chew a quarter of a sleeping tablet, just to help facilitate sleep. But I don’t want the hangover that I might get tomorrow, I have too much to do.

Fuck it, I’m going to take one. Back shortly.

Quarter of a tablet swallowed with a glass of navy rum and a biscuit. Here’s to sleep.

I’m upstairs sitting at my computer reading the news headlines on the BBC. The red cat has joined me. He is curled up purring softly to himself. I’m waiting for the pill to take effect. The malfunctioning fire alarm is outside my room. Its pips make me wince. It would be foolish to take the battery out. I’ll get a new one tomorrow when I go to the post office.

I’m going to go back to bed and read I think. It sounds stormy outside. I much prefer the sounds on this side of the flat. No traffic noise.

The curtains are being slowly illuminated

I am Sleepless again. I’m unsure why, I haven’t been to sleep today, I feel tired, well lethargic. It is hot. The room is hot. My sinuses are blocked and I have a headache. I can taste garlic, is that a bad?

Like I say, the room is hot and window is open. Outside the birds are singing for the dawn which is cracking on the other side of the flat bringing a sun which will cook us again tomorrow. I don’t mind the heat when I’ve got nowhere to go, though I prefer it not be too humid. But I rather it crept up like the water that eventually boils the frog in the saucepan. What I’m saying is that it would be nice to acclimatise over time, you know. Sometimes the heat makes me feel foggy in the head.

It’s late again. Poppy the Border Collie has just been walked by the young lady and her lover, I watched them from my mind. The curtains are being slowly illuminated and the pattern looks like clouds in a pop art landscape.

These streams of consciousness have worked twice and I’m hoping they’ll work a third time. So, come sleep, take me, I implore you.

It’s not working, I feel very awake and very restless. I want to read but I am finding Crash too graphic for my state of mind, too much vomit, excrement and semen! I guess I could light up my moon and read a short story. Yes, I think I’ll do that. Hopefully that’ll dance me to the edge of dreams.

Anyway, I must be going. My battery is starting to run low and I will have switch to auxiliary power if I’m not careful. I hope when I do fall over the edge my dreams are kind to me. The last two nights have brought unpleasant ones. All day they have haunted me. I couldn’t walk in my dream last night. (I also tried to buy a chocolate bar but I couldn’t count out my change out to pay.)

Anyway, I remember a quote by a man that went something like there is nothing more boring the having to listen to someone telling you about their dreams. And it’s true. I think. Your dreams are amazing but they don’t usually translate well into stories especially when you attempt to tell them in a linear fashion. Though, they can of course provide inspiration for a good story.

7% and my eyes are growing heavy (I hope).

You are sleeping, snoring softly. The brown cat is sleeping next to you but with an ear cocked to the birds. These posts, I’ve just realised, are good practise for sending texts emails and like via the phone. I’m certainly get faster!

Anyway, I shall return my phone to its cradle. Find my moon. The room is filled with ashy grey dawn light but it’s not bright enough to read by. So it’ll have to be by my moon.