I love my bed. When we were in New York I slept in hotel beds and my friend’s guest bedroom. I really missed my bed. Half the time I would wake up and my back would be sore. Or my neck would ache because the pillows were too fluffy. I also love my nasty goose down pillow from my childhood. I have taken that thing everywhere. It is lumpy and it has to be positioned just so. Any other pillow feels not right. My bed is this wacky futon frame that has decided that it no longer wants to be in the bed position despite the fact that this is basically the only position it has ever been in. Maybe it is tired and needs a change. The mattress is not your typical futon mattress. It is weird with springs. It does not want to fold into a couch position ever despite how the frame seems to feel at this time. For some reason, this bed at this time is the most perfect, comfortable, most difficult to wake up and get out of bed ever. Not sure why. But there it is.
One of the side effects of really great sleeping is that I have started dreaming. A good bit. Part of me finds this vaguely disturbing. The other part vaguely comforting. A long time ago I thought that dreams were telling the future so if you weren’t having any, that could be a bad sign. Not sure I buy into that anymore. Lately I feel as if my dreams are not good dreams. Not bad dreams, like a nightmare, but vaguely disturbing. Unsettling. I had one about a week or so ago that was set in a place that looked suspiciously like Leahi Hospital (although it could have been the setting of American Horror Story). I woke with fleeting images of blood and white but not much beyond that. However hard I try to remember, even telling myself to do so, it typically does not work.
But the dream I had just the other night still haunts me. In it I was an obake and I was in Japan. I remember moving, gliding through the sliding doors made of wood and paper inside of small Japanese houses. And I was moving backwards. In a sitting position. Floating. I remember that no one noticed me as I went from house to house. Living people going about their business. Except for one woman. She was wearing a kimono. Sitting on a small sofa. Her hair was wild and curly. She had on red lipstick. At first I felt safe because I knew that she could not see me. But I was wrong. I realized that she could. She looked right at me with her eyes opened as wide as they could. Her mouth a perfect oval of surprise. She saw me and I was afraid. Unlike my other dreams I keep seeing her even now. She scares me and I wonder why. Is it just the act of being seen? Truly being seen that is so terrifying? Or maybe that she has just seen a ghost and that if she has just seen a ghost then I was the ghost. Am I a ghost now? Invisible, afraid to be seen? Or maybe it is all nothing. Too much thinking. Maybe it is time to climb into the comfy bed and see where I go tonight. Hopefully I won’t see that woman ever again and she won’t see me. Sweet dreams.