More than Required… Or Not

Dearest Rachel –

Maybe it was the six miles. I can’t think of any other particular reason.

As I mentioned yesterday, I met Lars yesterday afternoon to walk through a forest preserve. This time, it was in our area, at Busse Woods, since he wanted to see the work that had been done on the house. The trouble is, since the trail was unfamiliar to either of us, we didn’t know how far we would have to go (or how long it would take us, as he had to get back between three and three-thirty) in order to circle back to our cars. It’s not that we were lost at any point in time, it’s just that we weren’t exactly found.

But we did manage to make our way, eventually, and even take Daniel out with us to lunch – although that took longer than I had hoped, as it is still difficult to pull him away from what he’s watching when it’s on live stream. Then again, I didn’t help matters by misplacing my car keys (which I set down in an odd place with the mail that I brought in), and later on, when we were about to pay for our drinks, not being able to find my wallet, and having to ask Daniel for money to pay the cashier – which he at least was able to do. As I made to head out to the car to check if I’d left it in there, Daniel pointed out the bulge in one of the cargo pockets, where I’d been keeping my wallet with me the whole time.

I really don’t like wearing these shorts. I mean, all’s well that ends well, sure, but that was embarrassing, and it didn’t ever have to be.

***

Suffice to say, I found myself nodding off even before ten o’clock rolled around. Rather than making myself that much more comfortable in the family room recliner (and probably sleep until two, precluding Daniel from doing the same), I dragged myself off to bed, dreading the fact that I’d probably be waking up at around five in the morning, fighting to stay asleep simply because there would be nothing to do for the next couple of hours before heading out to the ‘office.’

Imagine my surprise to look at the alarm clock the next morning to see that I’d been able to sleep all the way until just about seven. For once, I’d gotten more than the eight straight hours required of me and every other human.

Then again, considering how rarely any of us seems to actually get that much (remember those days, honey? I probably still haven’t been awake throughout my lifetime as long a you were, for all I know), maybe it’s just one more tiny down payment on my own lifetime sleep debt.

***

Hamlet claimed to be given pause by the dreams that he might encounter from the great sleep, and was thus dissuaded from it (at least, for the time being), but the little sleeps that we have on our way there can be rather peculiar, too. It’s been a couple hours since – and honestly, some of the details aren’t exactly family-friendly in any event – so the details are going to be rather sketchy, but I can recall at least two different storylines.

One of which (the family-unfriendly one) seemed to have to do with having to stand in as best man to a fellow who I know didn’t look at all familiar, but who for the sake of the story I had clearly been best friends with for a long time. He was in frail health, though, and didn’t know if he would be able to give his new bride (who honestly couldn’t have been more than four feet tall: she was the epitome of what an anime terms might be referred to as an ‘oppai loli’ – developed, but diminutive) the, ah, attention she deserved, and asked if I could, ah, assist in that matter. Somewhere in the midst of the story, the character of the bride’s father was mixed in, bursting in at some point to ensure that his little princess was happy with the arrangement – although he seemed to be completely unaware of precisely the ‘arrangement’ that had actually been made. Bless her heart, she didn’t fill him in on those details, but made it clear to her daddy that my buddy was absolutely the best husband she could ask for.

The other tale I can recall had to do, apparently, with being neighbors to Elon Musk – which, considering his distaste for blue states, seems improbable, but not entirely outrageous, as his own house I understand to be considerable more modest even than our own (although I guess it’s little more than a place to sleep right next to one of his corporate headquarters, so it serves its purpose). To be honest, it felt more like a Scooby-Doo cartoon (complete with an obvious guest star appearance) rather than a spy thriller, but most of it centered around the fact that he and I, along with several others in the area, were getting our mail stolen on a regular basis. Now, me losing mail is no big deal – most of it is junk mail that I’d just as soon would disappear anyway, and even the bills I’m more likely to receive online these days, so the thief would be doing most of us a big favor, honestly – but when a big wheel like Musk has mail stolen, it may well be a case of corporate espionage. So somehow I got roped into helping him (and of course he gets personally involved in a case like this) track down the thief, and whoever was backing him. It was quite the ride, although I don’t remember if we actually succeeded in getting anyone captured and arrested.

And this is what happens when I get the full eight-plus hours and then some.

***

I’m of the understanding that most of us have little control over the content of our dreams (let’s leave the concept of lucid dreaming out of it; I don’t think either of us ever mastered or will master that). It’s why when, in the Voyage of the Dawn Treader, the region of the sea where ‘dreams come true’ was revealed to be such a terrifying place (as the frightened lord they rescued from there tried desperately to explain before they passed through it, “not daydreams, you fools… dreams!”).

It’s not the content of the dreams that are so horrible, or even that the logic of the worlds we inhabit in our sleep is so topsy-turvy – although there is that – it’s that we have nearly no agency, no control over what’s happening. Oh, we may feel that way in the real world, true, and there are so many things that are indeed beyond our control, but we direct our steps as we walk through this life – there is a certain level of cause-and-effect, where we can look back and see a choice that led to where we are now. Not within a dream, though, and that, I think, is what makes them so scary, or at the very best, disorienting.

Still, it was nice to get a full night’s sleep out of it, and if this is the price I have to pay for it, so be it. Heck, I didn’t even wake up with a stiff back, so… yay?

Anyway, that’s been my morning; wish I knew how yours have been going.

Talk to you later; until then, keep an eye out for me and Daniel.

Published by randy@letters-to-rachel.memorial

I am Rachel's husband. Was. I'm still trying to deal with it. I probably always will be.

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