These Dreams of Mine

[Toadie]

<center><b>Knowing there's so much more to these dreams of mine, I'll wish for the insomnia to return. How I long for it's deprivation to come once again...</b></center>

Being an insomniac can fill your mind with so much doubt; make you constantly unsure of the reality around you. Insomniacs have a different version of the world. We see things as the way they could be, not the way society has accepted them, and not nessecarily the way they are. Our lack of sleep causes us to push our body and mind to the limit.

Sometimes, we go past that limit.

I pushed myself past that limit once, a little while ago. Even today I still feel the consequence of my inaction. When I stand, I feel as though I am drained of all fluids, and must sit quickly back down again. When I blink, my eyes seem to take ages to open once more. My thought process can be slowed at times, yet at others it will seem to work at a rapid pace, leaving me little time to catch up. All I do seems unpredictable; it's almost a thrill.

Almost.

My body is tired, my mind is racing. I can't keep up with either. Not being able to accomplish the task at hand annoys me further and further each time. I'm ill in the entirety of the word. Along with illnes comes medication. Along with medication comes sleep. And with this medicated sleep, these dreams haunt me. How these dreams haunt me.

I want my insomnia back.

[Toadie]

Waking up in a haze, I rub my eyes with my fists, something I've seen on TV and movies, but would never really do myself, but it just seems right to do. I look around me, and at first I only notice the enormous lake I seem to be floating on. To my right I can see mountains, to my left there's land in the distance. Ahead and behind me, the lake seems endless, except maybe a drop-off behind me.

Suddenly I realise I'm atop something, but can't figure out what. It takes me about four glances down to understand that I'm sitting cross-legged on a bed; my old water-bed that I had at my father's so many years ago. That seems to make sense: a water-bed floating on a lake. Nothing at this point is strange to me.

Not until I see a floating light making it's way over to me and my bed. A little confused, I lean forward to try to better my vision, and see that the light is hanging from a pole, much like a fishing rod. The pole is attached to the front of a simple wooden boat, with but one person in it, nothing else. No paddle, no supplies, nothing. I figure the boat is simply drifting with the current towards me, and don't realise that I'm not moving. Everything's normal.

Inside the boat is my aunt, whom we call Lala. She somehow makes the boat stop so its side is flush to my bed, and stares up at me with her kind eyes. I've always loved Lala, she knows me well and brings me random presents. But today it seems she doesn't have any gifts for me. Somehow she lets me know to get into her boat, and bring only what I need to live. So I gracefully slide off my bed and join her inside the wooden boat, which now that I'm inside, seems very spacious. I turn around to grab just a couple things from my bed, and see that it all has made it into the boat already. Boxes upon boxes are piled up beside us, towering over us. It would so easy for them to collaspe and fall, yet all they do is sway in the gentle breeze. They remind me of treetops.

So we depart, leaving my bedloved bed behind. I can't help but feel a tang of sorrow for leaving it, maybe we should've dragged it behind on a rope. I hope it doesn't get taken over by hoodlums as we drift off, and watch it dissapear into the horizon. Now taking the chance to look around, I see other boats like ours, lead by lanterns on a pole, boxes piled miles high inside them. All seem to be going somewhere, but not ending up anywhere. I ask my aunt where we're headed, and she says we'll reach our destination when I've found out what time it is. Well that's easy enough. I motion to look at my wrist, and remember that I don't wear a watch. Damn.

Such a simple request, and I can't do it.

Suddenly the boat switches directions, and we're heading for an island. Maybe someone will know the time there; I'm really curious as to where our final destination is, and somehow I know it's not this island. I seem to know a lot of things without any proof. I think about actually checking if I'm wearing a watch, but don't bother. I can't feel it on my wrist, so it can't be there. I know I'm right.

We arrive at the island, and step out of the boat. I wonder what's going to happen to all my stuff, but my aunt assures me it'll be there when we get back. Okay, so we're just making a pit-stop at the island for some reason, sounds good to me. My aunt takes the pole that carries the lantern, and suggests we move forward. I agree, and we're off. Time seems to speed up as we go through jungle, dodging random pebbles being tossed at us and roots seeming to lift themselves up trying to trip us. What feels like three minutes of time must've been an hour, at least. Finally we come to this hut in the middle of the jungle, which appears out of no where. It looks like Boogabooga's house from Banjo Kazooie for the N64, but my aunt Lala doesn't know what that is. Nevertheless, we enter it, and she strikes me as very calm for the situation.

Inside, the hut looks like a church. A large church. I can't fathom how such an enormous room fits into what I saw from the outside, and it takes me a few moments to get myself situated. Looking forward, I see lines of pews, then a space for ceremony, then the alter. Behind the alter is an older woman, but I can't reconise her. Lala suggests we go see her, to ask the time, and I can't see any reason not to. It's not like we could enter this holy place, see her, then turn around and leave.

Getting closer to the woman, I see that she's another aunt of mine. We call her Mags; a sixty-year-old, Scottish lady who has always been really cool and with the times. Happy that I know her, I quicken my pace and go to give her a hug. She steps aside, and I fall flat to the floor, though I didn't put much force into the would-be embrace at all. Things haven't been making sense lately. I slowly push myself up into a sitting position with some effort, and look up at my two aunts in embarassment.

Mags explains to me that we're in a holy place, and there's important matters to be dicussed. Like the time. But she's never really been a religious person, not that I've seen anyways. I just sit, confused, as her and Lala go to an indepth conversation about something I don't understand. Finally Lala asks the time, and Mags says she doesn't know. Lala tells me that it's a shame no one wears a watch, and we leave. Looking back at the church once we're outside, it looks like a hut again. How strange.

We make our way back to our boat, and it seems to take much less time then going the other way. Getting into it again, I realise that the piles of the thing I owned are slightly less tall. Someone stole my stuff! Livid, I tell my aunt we should hunt down whoever did it. I can smell them. They drifted east after stealing from me.

So Lala and I push the boat off the shore, and look east. There are other boats out, just like ours, and I try to decide which one has my stuff. After a couple minutes of debate, I point to one to our left, and Lala somehow makes the boat go that way. We slowly drift over to the other boat, and eventually manage to position ourselves right beside them, our longside flush with their's. There's only one person in the other boat, and it's one of my best friends, Mark. How could I get mad at him? But he did it. I know he did it. Damn.

I curse him out for stealing my things, and hop over onto his boat. I want to hit him, to make him feel pain for the trouble he caused, but he's my best friend. I can't do that to him. So I grab what boxes I know, somehow, are mine, and toss them to Lala, who catches them easily. Then I ask Mark the time, and he tells me to check my watch. I explain that I don't have one, and he says that's just too bad. Why is he being such a prick? I thought we were best friends.

A little sad and distressed, Lala and I leave Mark, drifting off again. I see the cliff that I saw at the beginning of our journey, and realise we're heading straight for it. Lala doesn't look worried at all. She just asks me the time. Frustrated and fed up, I thrust my wrist in front of her face, pull up my sleeve and exclaim that I am, indeed, watchless! It's then that I notice something unfamiliar on my wrist.

God. It's been there the whole time! I saw it when I was getting into Lala's boat. I saw it when we were running from rocks thrown at us. I saw it when I went to hug my aunt Mags. I saw it when I took my things back from Mark. But I just didn't see it, at all. And now, here it is. Lala winks at me, and I open my mouth to ask her what it was for. Then we're falling.

Off the edge of the cliff we go, water rushing around us everywhere. Once again, she asks me the time, and I don't understand. We're falling to our death. Water, boxes and her boat are coming with us. She calmly asks me the time again, and scream that it doesn't matter. Once more she asks me the time. Again I get fed up, look at my wrist, and tell her it's twenty minutes past four. She smiles, pleased, and I feel like I want to kill the world.

Then I'm back on my bed again, my things packed in boxes, strewn around me.

[Toadie]

There's a doorway, but no door. On one side I stand with my back to the inside, my hands holding on to either side of it beside me. Infront of me, on the other side of the doorway, the man I love holds the same pose as I. We stand facing eachother, speaking no words. Our brown eyes meet and neither of us looked away. We just stare at eachother, lost.

Suddenly, the view zooms out. Around our doorway, there's another one much larger. Still, it holds no door. Above this bigger entraceway there seems to be a blade of some sort. It's enormous in comparison to our size. The blade, looking to be from an axe, points down at the two doorways, and begins to swing. Downwards it falls, easily slicing through the larger frame, and heading for the smaller.

The first cut doorway doesn't shatter as I'd, for some reason, predict it would. Instead, it's two sides fall gracefully apart, landing symetrically level with our feet. I'm still looking into my love's eyes, unable to look away. I'm terrified this blade will come between us, and separate us, but I can't move. Staring into his big, brown eyes is all I'm able to do.

Down still the axe falls, and divides the top of our doorway. I expect to see it crash in front of me; I don't. Instead I can feel a quick breeze above my head, and hear another cut made just above my head. The blade had angled and missed my head by an inch. I hear it crash onto the ground just beyond the entranceway, and cringe with the sudden noise.

Only then am I able to peel my gaze away from my love's handsome eyes and look up. The rest of the doorway still in place, I see past the section that was cut out. A drizzle starts to fall, but falls only on me, as I am unsheltered by the doorway. I bring my palms face-up beside me, and feel the rain hit them. It's wonderous to feel something other than still air touch my skin. I smile in pleasure, then jump as I hear the portion of the doorway that I was holding crash onto that which was just cut.

My amity reaches out one hand to me in concern. His portion of the doorway now falls to the ground as well, with another booming noise. I reach my wet hand to him in return, but can't seem to get a hold of him. As our eyes meet one last time, I feel the nothingness take me over.

[Toadie]

I wake up now, far too late into the day. Sometimes before noon, sometimes after. Taking a quarter hour to wake up and get up, I'm exhausted still, eyes barely creaked open. Though I've slept for far too long, I feel as though I need more to even function. It's a dreadful feeling to experience, and I've not felt it for years now.

For over two years, nearing three, I've been able to function properly on two or three hours sleep. Never have I needed more, though I may have taken an extra hour's rest a few times. Now as I wake up from eight hours sleep, I want eight hours more. If I fall back asleep when I wake up, it's for far too long, and it's so taxing to raise myself from the sleep I had origionally. I can't stand it.

I want my insomnia back.

I can't stand relying on something, even sleep, to function throughout the day. It kills me, eats at my thoughts, my soul. Barely coherent, all I can think about is how much sleep I need, and when I can get it. Instead of spending my spare time creating new ideas, writing, doing something productive, I nap. I sleep.

I don't want to sleep anymore.

I don't want to dream anymore.

[Toadie]

I want to sleep again.

I want this mind to cease its endless race.

For so long now, it seems, dreams have come easily to me, alluring me into the sleep that I deemed unworthy. Cradled in my lover's arms, I have closed my eyes, solely intent on listening to the rise and fall of his chest, only to awake in the morn' with a surprised look in my eyes. Sleep had never been so easy.

What was it? The love I felt for this man, or simply the smooth motion of his breathing? It could simply have been the warmth of his body against mine. All these explanations could suffice, for now that I am no longer beside him each night, something has turned in my brain.

I no longer sleep.

I had learned so well how to stop things from taking place within the confines of my thoughts. I learned to shut everything down and leave breathing the sole responsibility of the night. No thoughts would touch my mind at night. I was able to at the least rest it of cares, were I not permitted to sleep. In this I had trained myself so well it became automatic. Sleep wasn't nessecary, but the shutdown of the mind was.

Not any longer. I had learned to sleep, it seemed, with the aid of my lover's presence. With this sleep, the shutdown happened of its own accord, and I no longer needed to force my mind into its blank state. I was at peace. The tables have turned, once more, on my frail sleeping patterns. No longer am I always in bed with my lover at night. No, it seems more often that I'm alone. And cold. Sleep is beginning to elude me once more. I was too accustomed to the comfort. I am being punished.

I want this mind to cease its endless race.