Tales of an Insomniac

There is something magical about the time between 12am and 6am. Ideally this is when I explore the complex and delightful world of dreams. In the morning I wake up disappointed longing to prolong the dream experience. I find it fascinating how I experience just enough similarities between the dream and the waking reality that I am almost always fooled by what seems to be an illusion of brain chemistry.

Every night I get to explore a new location. One night I was confined to a relatively small island, another night I got the pleasure experiencing the charm of the countryside. I find it fascinating how my mind works while I am dreaming. I always get caught up in the moment of the dream. When I wake up, for a brief moment the specific details of the dream are still very real to me. I can look back and understand how all of the various parts didn’t actually make sense. I am so in the moment that I ignore the gaping plot holes that seem to dominate that reality It is only after the experience is over that I can see the big picture of this reality.

I wouldn’t be surprised if this reality worked on many the same principles of the world. In my day to day to notice all of the peculiar things that should make me stop and contemplate the nature of this reality. There is an amazing and inexplicable quality about life. It just feels real. The only way I can describe the feeling of living is to compare it to the feeling of dreaming. Even though situation after situation refuses to make coherent sense I dismiss these details because of the overwhelming feeling that the space that I occupy exists.

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