I dream of squirrels
I woke up at 5am and forced myself back to sleep for two hours. This always results in a number of intense micro-dreams. I don’t know why that is, but the perceived length of time for each dream is far greater than the thirty minutes or so I’ve been asleep each time, so I’m really getting good value out of the morning.
All of these dreams were connected in some way with being miserably dissatisfied with life, in a slightly dated Brett Easton Ellis young professional kind of way. In the only one I can remember the plot of – and I’ll make this short because other people’s dreams are never very interesting – I had decided not to go to work because of a hangover, and was wandering around London. I met up with a friend from school who was inexplicably a security guard and had a little room actually in the building. I couldn’t get my phone to work to call the office; we talked for a bit and hung around his apartment. He had a number of manic pet squirrels that jumped all over me and everything else; some of his friends turned up, and everyone went back to someone else’s flat, which was a trendy white Apple-filled place full of people talking about making trendy experimental movies and trendy art. I didn’t participate, and it made me feel isolated and unhappy, even though they were friendly and didn’t exclude me. At around two o’clock everyone was going to go to the pub, and then I woke up, and it was all a dream. The end.
I don’t like the implications of this and the dream thing in general. I knew someone at university who said she had nightmares every time she went to sleep, and I thought that was horrific – one thing I’d grown to expect from sleep was that at least it would mostly be a rest, including mentally. These weren’t nightmares but they were very unsettling, at the time and in retrospect. I may be getting some pet squirrels though. No penguins were involved in the making of this dream.

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