More often than not, as I lay in bed attempting to lull my mind into slumber, I slowly switch off different switches in my brain. There are far too many images and scenarios that play themselves out in my minds eye. It's usually my brain decompressing from the day at work, replaying snippets of dialogue, scenes of monotony, weird things that usually signify a life pretty much at ease and content. Often times, these things feel like a weighted down back pack I'm carrying. It affects the way I walk, because it saps the strength of my limbs and makes me weary.
Invariably the replays of the day dissolve into wishful thinking which sometimes awakens me due to the running commentary in my head regarding decisions in my life and how they should have been different. I should have taken this job there, moved some other state, learn to say no. Those cliched responses we all exercise in moments of solitude.
The past several nights though, have been different as through the fog and cacophony of deconstruction slowly emerges a figure. The figure lays in a large bed completely content with their station in life and blissful that they lived that day to the fullest. The opposite of me. I reach my hand out towards that bed, that person. The scene pulls closer as I drift in through the ether and towards this destination. The person rolls over onto their side as I approach and beckons me with their smile. A blinding white light shines behind the person as I inch closer and some dissonant strings swell in the background while I approach. The person has a bemused look to them as if they're somewhat amused at my appearance. The backpack usually grows more in size, until it looks doubled in size nearly engulfing me as I move forward.
I get onto the bed and I realize it's a woman's face. It's her face. She's here in my dream not designed by some hopelessly romantic synapse firing. Her voice questions what took so long, and then shakes her head as she sees the weight on my back.
"You really shouldn't bring that with you if you're coming here. It's unsightly and looks too heavy for words". She says with some sympathy mixed with disappointment.
I reply to her that yeah, I didn't mean for that to happen but it does happen. A part of my DNA or some other grossly juvenile statement to hopefully come across as young and hip rather that aged and desperate. I've probably had this conversation before, but, it's usually with myself as most women I've known have never really took an interest in any boring, mundane, obviously back crushing neurosis or problems I'm carrying. Or maybe they did at first, but, eventually we grow tired of repeat offenders or bored of the same old same old.
ANYWAYS, she pulls out some sword from behind her and with two swipes, cuts the harness of the backpack sending it plummeting into nothing.
I feel free rubbing my neck and stretching before she requests my presence at her side.
I slide in the bed next to her, finding some unspoken solace by her side.
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