TO DREAM, PERCHANCE TO SLEEP, slam, and squeal
Tuesday, January 31, 2023 ~ column #7758
A door slams.
Tires squealing, sharply piercing the stillness, dead-calm darkness, and a woman’s squeal from off in the distance.
Why?
What is happening?
Another door slams, and a window opens – morning light leaks into corners of our eyes. We might experience that or be awakened from disorienting dream scenes, wondering whether those were authentic sounds we heard while waking or parts of an evaporating dream.
Interruptions disturb our conscious days and non-conscious nights, derail our thought train or those sounds, ones that startle, produce by-products before we return to what we are doing, and we likely don’t return to what we were doing soon, if ever at all.
What are we doing?
Why don’t we stop?
Why don’t we put our engines in reverse and chart a new course in life?
We could, and scarcely anyone would notice. Or care – we’re 1 in 8 billion, and who has time to think about one stranger far away, let alone one solitary member of our community?
Sure, people at our office, where we live, close friends and family might inquire after a few days of unexplained silence or failure to appear on any of the multi-media platforms we call home or ones we visit – they would notice the mystery of our absence for a short time like they notice the squealing tires or the squealing voice. Then they’ll go back to what they were doing.
We doze – destination dreamland, REM sleep overtakes, until sleep releases us to the morning, waking up to confusion, hearing unfamiliar sounds, wondering where we are, where we were just now, whether we were sleeping, dreaming about slammed doors.
P.S.: How was your dream? Back in the first line, was the squeal you heard one of delight, or of terror?
Reader feedback:
Mark, this is one of my favourite musings so far. I’m not usually a supporter of sports metaphors, but this one definitely makes the cut. There are many great lines in here. My favourite, predictably, is the last, HM, Calgary, AB