Have you ever been so tired that you long for your bed? You long for the crisp white sheets and springy pillows. The time comes to go to bed. You brush your teeth and do all the little things that one is supposed to do before climbing into your blissful heaven. One turns out the light and the world is still. An odd bark in the distance or a muffled conversation from a passerby or two. Time to go to the other world. The world that captures our dreams. The world that waits for us to forget about reality. It is our dream time.

The aborigines are inspired by these wonderful hours of slumber. Their dream time honours the other world and their paintings depict beautiful animals of this magical world. Other civilisations also honour these hours of inactivity. They interpret their dreams and hold great respect for their dream believers or medicine men of their sleep world.

I toss and turn and try to reach my dream time but to no avail. I look out the bedroom window and see a lonely figure walking under the light of the street lamp. He walks with a purpose. He seems to be almost home and I wish him goodnight in my sleepy head. My eyes want to close but my mind has other ideas. I am wide awake. I switch on my reading lamp and decide to read. This usually works quite well. But tonight, to no avail. I am in the middle of reading six books simultaneously!! They range from Paulo Coelho’s The Pilgrimage to Tori Spelling’s Mommywood. I opt for the latter. It has to make me sleepy because Hollywood trash irritates the hell out of me. A little bit of light reading should do the job. No can do. I get up and go to the kitchen to drink a glass of water. Poor Mozart is suffering too. I keep on stepping over his doggie basket. He looks at me mournfully and goes back to sleep. The lucky bugger!! What can I do to get to bloody sleep?

I decide to go to the living room and switch on the computer. I can do a bit of writing. But my concentration is at this stage not at its best. I can’t play my guitar because I would wake up my daughter and possibly the neighbours. What else can I do? I decide to ring a friend at the other side of the world, Australia. It should be early in the morning there. There is no reply.

I go back to bed and close my eyes. I think of my Catholic youth in Ireland. I remember my first camping holiday with the family and how cold it was. I wrap my duvet around me and see a frightened little girl trying to sleep in a big tent with her brothers. She hears all unfamiliar sounds around her outside and the rain drums a tune on the thick canvas of the old-fashioned tent. It lulls her to sleep and she felt safe and cosy tucked in from the outside world…

The clock radio goes Ahhhhhhhhhhhhhhhh. My daughter shouts at me to wake up.

‘Mom, we have overslept. I have to be at school in fifteen minutes.’’

I fall out of the bed and trip over Mozart. I fly into the kitchen and start making breakfast.

‘’Mom, it’s all your fault. You should go to bed earlier.’’

My weary eyes had not the energy to reply Just another sleepless night in the valley. Just another little glitch in the glazier of life. Just another…Oh bugger that, I’ll wait to philosophise tonight when I can’t sleep again. If I bore myself enough, I should fall asleep without a problem.

Sweet dreams and many more of them.

Niamh
 

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