Rapid Eye Movement
I haven’t actually remembered a dream in years. That might explain why I’m so often lost in my own head: my brain doesn’t get to have its pseudo-hallucinatory playtime, so I get dragged into whatever my occipital lobe wants to show me. I’m terrified of sensory deprivation. Maybe that’s why I don’t sleep, at least not much. I get glued to the screen of my computer or my phone and at two in the morning my mother shambles into the kitchen and tells me I’m addicted. She then takes the half pound of chocolate she bought for us to share and eats all of it in bed. My mother eats in the middle of the night. I once saw her take an entire block of cheese back to her bedroom. It was almost three thirty. She’s not usually hungry.
She tells me she has dreams about her father and looks nothing like her mother. I say she does because my grandmother is beautiful. I wish I looked more like them, not because I dislike my face the way it is now, but maybe then I’d feel closer to family just by resemblance. It’s just me and my mother and we live in an apartment in which we can both wake up to the same alarm. Some days when the alarm goes off, chime grating and lacking in melody, I don’t want to get out of bed. It’s warm and I’m often very tired. Sometimes I just don’t want to have to think that day. I know I won’t listen very well and when I try to hold a conversation I’ll be dull or elsewhere entirely.
It’s always 2am for me, that nestled time of night when everything is a visceral blur of hilarity or overwhelming apathy. I haven’t slept so I won’t have to think, but I do anyway. I guess overzealous fight or flight is too primitive to shut off. Exhaustion is just the next best thing and it gives me a reason for my stupidity and maybe it’ll be excused.