Poppies. Poppies will put them to sleep. Who’d a thought a children’s movie would be pushing drugs? Maybe Oz was the result of L. Frank Baum taking opium before Sominex?
I have a love/hate relationship with sleep and dreaming. When all goes well, I get inspired. I see paintings before they happen. I have happy relationships with everyone. Passed relatives and friends come to visit. I’ve driven around with the Beatles, flown like a hawk, and had my best love affairs. But who knows what my subconscious is going to spit out at me? Body parts, rotting corpses, wars, blood, and fear can chase me through the night. It can be exhausting.
I’ve read a lot about “sleep hygiene”. Go to bed at the same time every night. Don’t eat before sleeping. Turn down the lights an hour or two before bedtime. I try. I fail. I stayed up last night rereading Harry Potter instead, and Wormtail cutting off his hand is obviously not the best way to prepare myself for peaceful dreams, especially since I already know Voldemort will rise again.
I had to resort to my fail-proof last resort – Bob Ross. I’m never getting that half hour back again. It’s not the first half hour he’s stolen from me with his soothing patter about “happy little trees” or the grateful squirrels he took in for rehab. Bob makes me nuts, and obviously, he is a guy to vent my frustrations upon, especially since he’s been dead since 1995 and was probably a really nice guy. I’m highly suspicious of someone who paints landscapes with house brushes, but his happy, soothing voice is the perfect lullaby.
I keep a dream journal for 2:13 dreams that wake me up. I don’t know why it’s always 2:13, but those are the dreams worth remembering. Okay, sometimes it 2:15, but maybe I’m just a little slow getting out of those. Do you think it’s because I was born at 2:13 in the morning? Born almost a month late too, and that seems to fit in perfectly too, because once asleep, just try waking me up again! When I was in college, the ceiling fell down in the night and I didn’t wake up even though everyone else in the building stood around laughing at the plaster dust on my face. I rolled over and ignored them.
I’ve heard about the people of some tropical culture who start every day discussing their dreams. Think of the intimacy and understanding that must foster amongst them. I watched my dog running in her sleep last night and wished she could talk about what she was seeing. I love hearing about other people’s dreams, especially children’s dreams before anyone tells them to quit telling stories or squashing their hopes and fears. I have dream-inspired drawings my brother drew when he was a kid. I can only wonder how he thought that stuff up.
Writing about sleeping is making me tired, and I feel like I’m just rambling today…
Dorothy and pals is an old piece, acrylics on illustration board. And yes, I know I forgot Toto! He must be running in his dreams or something :)