I wake at 3:43am.
I remember the time because I always check. Call it paranoia but I have a deep-rooted fear that one day I’m going to find myself involved in a police investigation and they’re going to ask my whereabouts or actions at, say, 3:43am.
And I understand why it may be suspicious to say that you remember or not.
“Why did you check the time?”, they might ask. “In case you ever asked me”, I might answer, innocently…
At 3:44am, I reach for the pen beside my bed.
“Is journaling your dreams therapeutic”? I pondered as I fumbled around, knocking over various objects that don’t belong in my immediate sleeping space. Trying to stay “tired” despite the ruckus, I open one eye only, and put pen to paper.
I started making notes about the dream I had just woken from: Chasing a bull down the street. Pink wig. Fishnet tights. Though thrilling, I didn’t consider it worthy enough to analyse in the real world and decided I would have more fun if I went back to sleep and “enjoyed it”.
Around 7am, I awoke with ink on my face.
By now I can’t remember my dream and I curse myself for not writing it down.
Is journaling your dreams therapeutic? In the cold light of day, I realise that I only write down the good ones. Maybe all those positivity quotes on my Instagram feed that I roll my eyes at during the daytime, have more power over me than the depressing 10 o’clock news I tune in to right before bed.
Gone are the days where a supper of cheese is the culprit for nightmares. A constant bombardment of doom and gloom could be to blame.
But I’m no scientist.
The purpose of the elaborate dreamcatcher that hung in my teenage bedroom was to protect me from negative dreams by trapping them in its delicate web, letting only the good ones slip through and glide down the feathers onto my sleeping face. Ah.
But maybe it’s worth letting the bad ones through, if only to write them down.
I vow to “do better” tonight. I no longer sleep with a feathery hoop of willow above my head so there are no guarantees that my mind will devise the quality dream content I was blessed with as an oblivious teen, but that’s out of my control.
Regardless, I shall write it down.
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