If the day goes as I believe it to be, then it could be one of those long drawn out affairs that saps your energy with each tick of the clock. Sure, I woke up at 4:00 this morning and I may or may not have sleepwalked through the front door of my job, but that’s not really important here.
Sleepwalking might be an exaggeration since I was vaguely aware of my surroundings, able to speak in semi-coherent sentences and still able to walk at an acceptable pace. Nevertheless, my head feels as light and as connected to my shoulders as a helium balloon tethered to a chair by a piece of string. The morning activities have a dull cinematic feel, like watching the landscape streak by while you stare blankly out the window of a train. I am in the world, moving about even, but I am not yet of it.
I do as I do every morning; put my things on my desk, take my wallet and keys out of my pockets, grab my water cup and coffee mug, and head for the break room. I try and refrain from making this walk look as laborious as it feels, but the weight of the sleep interrupted hangs on my feet like ankle weights. I feel like I look like I feel, which today, feels and looks like refried crap.
I fill my cup with ice and water. I fill my mug with the generic brand of coffee they keep stocked here. I’m double fisting coffee and water and hoping something good happens on the way back to my desk.
Then it happens, my feet start to feel like I’m pulling them through several feet of snow, and my legs are no longer able to move. I had a brief, but real vertigo spell a few years ago, and I feel the world spin as I notice the pattern in our office flooring come rushing toward my face. I hear my coffee mug bounce once before my face hits the floor and everything goes dark. It’s hard to say what happens after that for two reasons: 1) I never passed out and did a faceplant at work. 2) I haven’t worked out that part of the fantasy.
What I have worked out, is that when my face hits the floor, I fall into some deep Van Winklian kind of sleep. The kind of deep sleep that surpasses the standard eight hour requirement and moves into a mild bear-like hibernation. Nevermind the passing out at work and the (or quite possibly the lack of) confusion that follows; the purpose of that sequence of events is simply a path to the sleep. The sleep I supposedly don’t want, the sleep I definitely don’t get, but the sleep I so desperately need.
My wife was telling me something about something Joel Olsteen said about speaking good things into existence, and I wondered whether or not speaking on (or in this case daydreaming about) sleeping fell into that bucket of speaking good things into existence. A recurring dream about literally falling asleep has to mean something more than being tired right?