Routine comfort

I become aware of how utterly relaxed I am  as the alarm jars me from a dream in which an other-career acid folk guitar strummer leans into a microphone at an amphitheater venue and has a nice sunshiny connection with the crowd. His is a micro-set, and even though he has played for years, he’s not really sure if he is good enough. There is a sunset, a breeze, and his chord progressions are springlike. 

The alarm sounds. I am face-down, a lower-case “h” and my body temperature is just right. I touch the Snooze button on the face of my phone, and while the nine-minute counter ticks away, I drift back into the most remote level of dream state. This time, Neutral Milk Hotel’s “The King of Carrot Flowers” is playing, and I’m really still half-awake, trying to remember exactly when I ate and how much wine I had last night in order to hopefully simulate the same sleep experience again tonight–every night–if possible.

Nine minutes are up and now the layers of sleep are drifting away. Still in awe of how at peace I am, I slowly pull my legs up until I’m in a curled position. I breathe in slowly through my nose and hold the air in as I swing my left leg first out from the bed. Once I stand, I close my eyes for just a second to stretch briefly. Left hand cupped over right, I noiselessly close the bedroom door behind me. With luck, I’ll sleep like that again tonight.

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