The varieties of sleep come in complex shades, each version informed of the day past so it may shape the day ahead. While grey remains the primary color there are other hues that are infrequently used. A night of blue sleep is deep and murky – not unlike the ocean deep. A pink sleep is one of levity, awash with pastels and twisted dreams.
It seems there is an unspoken but upheld rule that the Internet sleeps on the weekend. Unlike the frenzy of the work week, the Internet – as a whole – seems to go into a quiet vegetative state as soon as the clock strikes 5pm on Friday.
It’s a gentle change, one that often goes unnoticed. It’s a change from refreshing a website and seeing one new post instead of ten. It’s a change from having 10 friends online instead of 60. It’s a change from rush to leisure.
Traveling to work every morning is not without its dangers.
When the first alarm goes off at 7:15am it’s silenced without a sound. Just a swift arm’s throw to the nightstand, a moment’s hesitation as the ‘snooze’ button is found, and then back to dreaming.
I don’t know how long a ‘snooze’ is, if it’s universal across all devices, but when the second alarm goes off my arm again flies to its source, groping for the switch to turn off the merciless ringing.
In the morning of the first day of the month Sam opened his eyes while still laying in bed. They opened to the morning, with sun streaming around the blinds, and focused on the life of the day that was waiting around to be seen. There was no particular focus to Sam’s eyes. Rather, an embracing of the new day occurred seamlessly, bridging the night from yesterday to the morning of today. The past seven hours snubbed out as but a fantasy of a memory, remembered as myth and nary believed to have truly elapsed.
A gentle whispered memory falls off the cliff of Sam’s brain’s right hemisphere. “Remember…” is slowly whispered as it falls from his mind’s perception, bringing Sam’s head to turn sharply right on his pillow in hopes of catching the dream before its gone forever. He digs his cheek into the pillow while furrowing his eyes, digging to find the memory of the dream and unearth it to face the bald sun. His eyes grow to greater pitches of effort before reflexively relaxing as acceptance of loss is found.
Sam’s head turns to its left, resting from its excursion of attempted salvation. His eyes close and his brows relax. Sleep’s siren call is heard in the back of his mind, beckoning him back into its warm embrace, beckoning for Sam to steal away for the day, steal away from the sun, steal away from all that he had promised to accomplish on this day. He pushes his head further into his pillow and rearranges his arms, laying them to his side as he prepares for his second round of sleep.
Time snaps and all reference points vanish. The still void returns to Sam’s most frontal perception, statically charged and chaotically churning, an abyss of reality that Sam knew just so recently ago. Aimlessly floating, Sam drifts just above the sea of dreams, occasionally dipping his toe into the froth to test its temperament, hoping to dive in when it settles to its most inviting state. A small smile forms on Sam’s corporal plight, pushing his cheekbones higher as his mind begins to remember the dreams in which he once took flight. Away from concern and away from despair, Sam’s journey toward serene dream seems all but guaranteed to begin once again.
The alarm begins blaring and Sam is harshly pulled from ‘where he can’t remember’. His eyes bolt open and his right arm careens left, silencing the alarm and sighing while again greeting the day. Good morning Sam, I hope you enjoy your stay.