Of Dreams

Sometimes the tiredness falls off me like rain. And then I can no longer do anything other than retreat, go to bed, to the soft cocoon of the blankets and sheets and hope that sleep will come, rise above the anxieties and overwhelm me. I dream a lot of startling things these days. I remember how when I was prescribed malaria medication I was warned that a side affect could be vivid dreams and I remember wondering how would I ever know? My night mind dreams up fantastic science fiction novels and battles between good and evil and it dreams of the wings of birds rescuing bits of light from beleaguered people. I have always had vivid dreams and often periods of my life have been marked by a recurring dream of some sort and after the ending of particular chapters, it is as if my sleeping mind regurgitates all of the things it has forgotten, downloading all of the details of that time period into a new time continuum; people I have forgotten, events, random details such as mathematical formulas or the particular stitching across a piece of fabric or the way a place smells come tumbling in. Right now I sleep the sleep of the dead, I do not even disturb the sheets at night although in my dreams the world unfolds most peculiarly and I am left with imprints and impressions, dream fingerprints on my waking days.