Sleep, Drugs and Ghosts

Sleep is my drug of choice. You might ask yourself, why would you want drugs in the first place? My answer without even thinking: they feel amazing and produce vivid, altered experiences. Drawbacks? Addiction, physical and spiritual damage, lost money and relationships, etc. You get the drift. This is why sleep is a great alternative! All the benefits without any of the jail time.

And seriously, who needs hallucinogens when you have a whacked out brain like mine? I can “trip” just about any time I am sleepy- which means, all the freaking time. Consequently, I consider myself lucky. Most of my dreams are pleasant and all around fun. Having learned to control some experiences within my dreams they become the most absurd choose-your-own-adventure story imaginable. Think Wonderland, times ten: vast, plastic, landscapes that shift in shape and texture, filled with friends, strangers and bizarre animals. When I am in charge I can do what I like, whether it is commencing an epic quest or roaming the terrain and edifices of my brain to just try new things. Amusement abounds. There is one drawback, however… nightmares.

That’s right, these are the trips that remind you why drugs are bad. Fear keeps me from controlling the outcomes and they can become bizarrely terrifying in an instant. Yesterday afternoon I fell asleep and found myself among hooligans who had this funny water balloon trick. They would place these clear balloons filled with some sort of explosive liquid in parking garages and wait for cars hit them and fly into pieces. Somehow I found myself in a car attempting to leave said garage and trying not to die while avoiding latex grenades.

I escaped, but I wasn’t myself, meaning that somehow I had switched out an X chromosome for a Y. My escape from the teenage bombers was short lived. They found me later and shoved me into an oversized stringed bass case. My brain said, Don’t worry, this is just a film. They will let you out in a minute after they have got the shot they need. But when I heard the dirt dropping on my makeshift casket and I felt my spirit separating from my body, as the oxygen was converted to carbon dioxide, I knew I might be in trouble. I floated up into a high contrast world where all of the colors one might expect to see were inverted. Another spirit, a young woman with long, curly hair, was weeping nearby. I tried to comfort her but she had been murdered too. In an instant she went from weeping to screaming and began to chase me, wailing and clawing at my back.

I woke up sweating and breathing heavily.

Let me tell you, there is nothing that I hate more than trying to comfort a ghost, having them turn nasty and start chasing what is left of you. So rude. That is the last time I try to commiserate with an apparition. They have very poor manners, indeed.