When Sleep Meets Light - Light Meet Clarity

I'm afraid I may always be one of those write when times are tough sort of folk. Such that, the absence of posts should signal the adverse, that things are, quite positively, good.

Alexander's Terrible Horrible No Good Very Bad Day, in reverse.

I suppose getting good things is fairly simple. As simple as ABC, 1-2-3, heads shoulders knees and toes. The sun in the east, and by noons after - the west. It needs only one, just one, a singular requisition. An assumption, a supposition, a science fair hypothesis, that says first, I deserve good things. I deserve good fall like weather and I deserve faithful friends - fresh baked cupcakes and a delicious cheese pizza just for me. A tub of cookie dough, and no one to judge my food metaphors. I deserve love and I deserve happiness. Love and happiness that inspires clarity and golden silence, stillness, and light, holding tight to what you've got, like a box of 4 ready to be devoured before thawed Uncrustables, and those who won't judge my ever growing food metaphors. And on this rare occasion, a blog entry.

While my waking life is good. My subconscious isn't. It's a murky sleep filled place, with visits most recently from my past.

Sometime ago I got to thinking about sleep. If you're sleeping as much as the doctors order, you're spending about 1/3 of your life tucked under the sheets. Add to that a rainy Saturday, and a week a year of sick time, a marathon of the West Wing in bed, you've got a lot of time with you and your mattress. I was going to take advantage of that time, and make it as comfortable as humanely possible. My bed, is a feast for the tactile senses. It's a down paradise. A thread count dream. Eleven pillows and a cat purchased solely for her heat generating, jonesing for a nap at moments notice, spooning potential. Fresh cut lavendar. Vanilla custard candle. A cup for tea, and a ceramic cupcake to inspire good dreams. It's a grand place, a vacation for 8 long hours, once a day, seven times a week, where a month turns in to a year and life is, good.

But even when life is good, and your thread count is better, there's still work that the subconscious asks. And in the past 2 weeks it's asked me to spend time with those who've occupied parts of my past. I've had awkward conversations, been chased down my childhood street, and looked back to see the people I love replaced. I would hope this isn't unconventional marketing for Jim Carey's new Christmas Carol, and instead about making peace.

In the past 3 nights, I've awoken with no dreams, no nighmares, no visits. Sound sleepfulness. But an idea. A gutted feeling. That being happy asks two requisitions: knowing you're deserving of it - and saying goodbye to a time and a people who never deserved you. And if I've had to do that in the murky world of my subconscious sleep, I get to wake up to luxury sheets and the happiness I now come to rely upon at mornings hello.