Ordinarily, this would rank slightly above
I woke up or
I got take out. Since I have sleep
apnea – having a dream enjoys a special significance.
It means I slept. For real, with R.E.M. and everything.
No R.E.M.? No dream.
After dad died, I didn't dream for about a year. Didn't think much of it, other than
Christ, I'm tired.
I get the diagnosis, get the treatment – and I'm dreaming again. Hooray for modern medicine.
It's just that with sleep disorders, the feedback is subtle. If things start to go wrong, it might be weeks or months before you realize all is not well.
Months ago, I asked for an airflow monitoring machine so I could find out whether I was tired from apnea – or just tired. It took weeks and weeks, but the verdict finally came back. My dosage got upped from 10 to 11.
Airflow wise, I'm not entirely certain this isn't a "pat him on the head" dosage (i.e. nothing has changed you silly man, but we're making an insignificant change so you'll feel better. Honestly, the machine looks and acts the same. I doubt I could tell either way).
Saturday, I was pretty much useless. Laid around the house like a zombie, wondering if I'd had any R.E.M. sleep lately. Outside of a dream – how would I know the difference?
So I had a dream. R.E.M. Proof positive.
And now I'm going to bitch about that.
I read somewhere that dreams are short term memories shifting into long term memories.
Some minimal state of consciousness allows you to experience the images as they reorganize themselves. The stuff you don't need fades away, the stuff you need is stored for the long haul.
For only the second time since he died, I had a dream about dad. And I’m wondering what kind of short term memory just went down in ink.
In the dream, dad actually spoke. We interacted (although I couldn’t really say about what), which was new. Last time, he was in the room, never said a thing.
This time he died.
Following an all too familiar theme of my dreams - I was shown a dangerous cliff. It was far off and it had safety netting along the edge. Despite this, I knew (in a manner peculiar to dreams) that the cliff was an unavoidable, mortal threat.
Dad and I needed to get past this cliff. I wanted to give it a wide berth, dad wanted to save time and pass right next to it.
The part of my brain that controls dreams is very good at dialing up the misery to just under the level where I begin to disbelieve.
Dad goes first, gets caught in the netting. He's pissed off. I'm unable to do anything but watch him struggle closer and closer to the edge. And then he falls.
In slow-motion Technicolor.
And then it's morning.
So, by way of the ether - I ask whoever came up with that theory of dreams:
What short term thought was saved from oblivion so that I could watch dad die in my head?
If it were possible to know - I would have forgotten it deliberately. Then I wouldn’t thinking about this crap on a workday.