Nothing more that I want than to go back to sleep. I don't want to make a peep. I want to make dreams. My head screams--well it's more like a whine. It's heavy and I can't ever seem to find the time to get my full 8 hours in. I think it takes me much longer to do anything. My mind tends to linger and ponder and grow fonder to just being blank. I can thank meditation for that. I am now typing with my head on the desk. Multi-tasking. I ask a lot of myself as most women do. I put all my goals on the shelf right above my desk as if gazing at them day after day they will grow wings and take flight. I guess any forward movement is good trajectory but if I were to erect a line graph of my progress it would look like long leisurely wedge of swiss cheese. Slow and steady, don't mind the dips--although my head does flips when it's not staying still and I wish that I could just chill or focus or be like those founders that don't need Z's. They work on their projects as if curing disease. I respect that but also know that it could take its toll on you in other ways. Maybe not now, but eventually, when your life is off kilter, you bleed. Or atrophy. You use some parts and get that reputation strong, but your spiritual health is long gone. Or you're super fit and your love life has gone to shit. The question I'm constantly asking myself is am I willing to sacrifice living well in all domains to realign my career to be free to work independently. I'll cradle this thought--it will be my premonition, as I return to my bed in the fetal position.
I woke up on Friday not able to turn my head. I was in quite a bit of pain and microwaved a wet washcloth at my office to keep my muscles relaxed and proceeded to turn my entire body to speak to someone throughout the weekend like I was wearing one of those large, nerdy invisible neck braces. I popped Motrin like M&M's to which, unlike M&M's, I started to get immune. After an intense massage on Sunday that felt more like physical therapy than anything I've gotten done at a hotel spa, I am about 75% better. The last three days I have heeded the advice of the internet and my MT, Ben, and slept on my back, which is common for only 8% of the population. I feel like a needy corpse, that needs her proper pillow position, but I've always been somewhat of a snobby sleeper, so the pillow thing isn't really new. (Normally, I need the right temperature, neck position--needless to say I never sleep well when traveling and tend to drool, so you know, it's awkward to sleep publicly for the slobberers).
The wild thing is, when I sleep on my back, I get crazy dreams. They are dramatic, intense, and obviously speaking about the ones that I can recall after waking, very rarely pleasurable. I have started to notice a theme of terminal disease, fire, and men from my past who were their own natural disasters, romantically speaking. My mother never sleeps on her back because she says she gets nightmares. I did some research, and although I did find out some evidence of this, nothing that was seriously backed by science. The massage therapist, Ben says perhaps I'm falling into a deeper sleep than in my regular position on my side and perhaps this is true. Is the trade off for better sleep a tumultuous dream trip? This may be conversely true of waking dreams too--the more frightening and risky, the better the payoff for a more fulfilling life if they are manifested. I think it is worth exploring further--perhaps I will start journaling these night journies and will report on the other side.