More Fantasy, not Dreams…

The windows open just a tiny crack, the winds blowing in as the weather turns colder and a blanket pulled up to my neck and wrapped around my feet.  I love everything about curling up on a Sunday afternoon and just shutting my eyes for a little while.  I missed it when I lived in Florida.  Something really does change the way you feel about the seasons while living in a subtropic area.  Sure the first Christmas the temperature was 35 degrees [1 Celsius for other!], but most of the time it jsut didn’t get that kind of sleepy setting.  And living in Maryland we go from winter to summer over the course of a weekend.  One day 50 the next 90!

For the last year or so I have had sleepless nights absent of any dreams.  Some of it the medication I take for the depression and some of it my brain just doesn’t want to think the way it does during our waking hours.  Most, if not all, of the dreams I had have been shattered in spectacular fashion in the year 2014 and 2015 has just added increasing medical issues.  I guess the best way of looking at it is my sub-conscience needs a rest and even those micro-seconds that a dream flashes through my synapses is too much to handle.

I would call what I have fantasies not really dreams, they have no way of coming true, so it is just my mind playing the possibilities.  Under that same blanket would be a small girl curled up with me watching cartoons.  Both of us randomly closing our eyes as we drift off sleep.  Her wondering if there really could be a mouse trying to take over the world [Pinky and the Brain!], me dreaming about a long future of us continuing to do this very thing.  Graduating to a time when she brings me a warm cup to drink rather than the other way around.

A dream of man and woman
Diviner but still human,
Solving the riddle old,
Shaping the Age of Gold!
My uncle wrote that about 140 years ago, during a time when poetry was still commonplace in the ways we communicated.  He was talking about the end of a life, the sun setting on an autumn’s day.  I look at it and think about how for the brief periods of time we allow ourselves to dream, we are God-like.  Master of a fate that only exists in our minds, endless possibilities encased in every individual.  You can be anything, attain everything, find a happiness that sometimes reality can’t match.
Dreams are important, even if only to give us something to look forward to.  They can be completely ridiculous in nature, maybe something we can never possibly attain, but we still need to have them.  I once told someone that at times you had to sacrifice to make someone’s dreams come true, I still believe that.  The undying faith I have in a single individual’s ability to do more than she thinks she can is most likely the dream I was living, one that became my nightmare.
Later on I’ll collapse on the couch, a combination of exhaustion and my body being drained by the vampire at the hospital.  And I look up at the window and see the sun-catcher with an Emerald birthstone in it and fantasize about those old dreams.  The sun hitting it at just the right angle to cast a rainbow on the floor for an hour or so [yes, I let my mind wander one day, not realizing the passage of time].  I still hold on to the dream that her mother is okay.  Mostly I like to hold on to the dream a friend shared with me, that the aunt I loved so dearly left us so that she could watch her niece.  Sentimental, I know, but it would be nice if true.
Sweet dreams to you all!
[in case anyone recognizes the quote, John Greenleaf Whittier – My Triumph]

In response to The Daily Post’s writing prompt: “To Sleep, Perchance to Dream.”

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