Opting to break with civilizing comforts in order to recover my sanity, I decided to sleep in the swag last night. If you don’t know what it is, behold the picture posted for you above.
As there was nothing on TV last night, I made my way to my destination rather early, and just before it rained. It seemed a strange act. My triceps still hurt from a strain on Monday and my body felt rather stiff and barely recovered from exertion.
I clambered into the tent with resignation. I couldn’t get a clear thought and I just wanted to sleep. That is, I kind of wanted to annihilate the present, grey and in-between reality for the sake of a more hopeful tomorrow.
Then it began to rain. That would have been okay. Light drizzle constantly above my head was a new sensation, but one I could get used to. I drifted off. I went to sleep — but it is never advisable for me to sleep in conditions where the air does not circulate effectively. I get nightmares. In every instance where the window and the bedroom door were shut, I’ve suffered from perturbing hallucinations.
I would have thought there was enough air coming in through the back window of the swag, which I had extended to be slightly open. There was something flapping, though, and in my dream I felt I was in a crib, or in my tomb. Two hands were reaching in and touching me on either side, but they were just the canvas flapping. And yet they seemed maliciously intent on reaching: denying their existence as they vanished and returned again as dream states started to take over.
I woke up fully, and malevolent intent was all around me. Danger was now close by, with every thudding of the rain in empty buckets in the neighbor’s yard, with every way the wind was rearranging the environment.
I went back to sleep, but something was weird. Part of my spirit was leaping up, and out of the black density of the swag, my coffin. It leaped with animal frenzy in through the back door of the house with kangaroo feet. There I barely uttered, “I had to get away from them!” and Mike seeing me there, immediately rushed to console me with his knowledge: “Yes, I know… I know…”
As it was, I woke up suddenly and reconsidered my options. I felt for sure that should I break my resolution and unzip the protective fiber, black matte above my head, a dinosaur would certainly reach in and gobble me for dinner. I’d have to do it very quickly and then get inside — away from what was lurking — in the smoothest manner possible.
Reaching up a foot above me, I somehow found the zip — which was amazing in itself, since primitive minds cannot fathom the existence of modern utilities. I tore open my container and saw the sky was milky, with pale pastels — hardly a committed night, but far from day, and something in-between.
I grabbed my bedding and my pillow and fumbled at the door, marveling at the possibility that technology like door handles would ever succumb to dire emotional needs.
I finally got the door to yield and entered, carrying everything I needed for my internal migration away from madness, evil and external sources of panic.
Mike was also hazy with somnambulism on his way to the toilet, and screamed at my approaching silhouette.
Returning to life from death was my pleasure in the next few hours.