I’ve been thinking a bit lately about how I sleep, or attempt to sleep. Sleep seems to be the one area that people develop completely individual habits and characteristics, where any pretense is dropped and we do whatever it takes just to get to sleep and stay that way.
- I don’t dream. That is to say, if I dream, which I’m assured by science that I do, I’m almost never aware of it. So many people describe their dreams in intimate detail, are terrified of their dreams, even experiment with lucid dreaming to consciously explore their dreams. My girlfriend on occasion lives her day shaken by the memory of what she dreamed the night before. The only dreams I can remember having over the past several years are a recurring theme of missing my flight at the airport, and it’s gone by the time I make it to the shower. Sleep for me is a wholly uneventful activity.
- Every so often I feel the need for background noise to fall asleep to, and for some reason my go-to option has become the original radio broadcast of The War of the Worlds by The Mercury Theatre on the Air. Something in my wiring has decided the sound of a play-by-play of aliens killing everyone is incredibly relaxing.
- That particular sleep aid notwithstanding, I’m usually an excellent sleeper. Couch, floor, very thin futon, I can sleep most anywhere so long as I’m horizontal. But sit me even slightly upright, and the best I can do is maybe 15 minutes. I couldn’t even fall sleep on my back until I had to recover from a broken collarbone and developed it from sheer exhaustion.
The lack of dreaming bit has made me wonder if it’s a supporting indication of my lack of creativity, or where I spend it all and don’t get the chance to keep it.