Nightmarish Fog

I have an extremely active dream cycle.  I write them down every morning.  This is a habit I got into a long time ago.  I would say they are strange beyond words, but everyone says that.  Besides, I’m pretty sure I could make up some words if I had to.

I am well versed in my dreamscape.  It wends its way in and out of lucid dreaming states and might include anything my purty little brain can come up with; a spectrum from hellish nightmare to sweet, dreaming perfection.

Last night I had a dream haze reminiscent of sleep paralysis (something I have experienced); however, I mark these scenarios as slightly different from sleep paralysis for a number of reasons (which I may go into at a later date).  The experience is not unfamiliar to me, and I thought I might share the juicy details of this instance with you folks.

To set the stage, I was lying on the couch watching Lost Tapes, a rather bizarre show about cryptids and paranormality in mockumentary format and playing on Animal Planet no less.  Last night’s episode was a werewolf story.

A scant 5 to 10 minutes into the episode, at the first commercial break, I turned my head away from the TV and closed my eyes.  Residual ache from a migraine coupled with some annoying neck pain left me fidgeting to find a comfortable repose.  I concentrated on the voice of the narrator and tried to relax.  As you would expect, the listening portion of my evening quickly faded into dozing.

So begins the glorious melding of everything and nothing.  The point at which the sights and sounds around you meld with creations of the mind.

The show continued to murmur to me in the back of my mind.  The green walls of the room are so very familiar and comforting.  Nevertheless, I really don’t feel comfortable with the snarling, orange-eyed beast peering in at me from the window.  The dog is behind me to the right; I can see her sleeping when I turn my head.  Her lack of concern at our night prowler is troublesome.  The phantasmagorical music on the television weaves in and out of my unconsciousness.

In the midst of it all, deep down, I know that I am lying on the couch dozing.  I try to awaken.  A seemingly herculean task coupled with an amount of internal struggle equal to such a task.

My head is like molasses.  The feeling is much like being drugged.  Your muddled perception swims upward toward a clarity that recedes further and further away the harder you strive.  The back of your head feels like the proverbial funny bone strike.  Electric throbbing, a dull ache, and a raw, prickly tickle all collide together at once to overwhelm your senses.

My head is, for moments I am unable to measure, hovering above the pillow.  My body is attempting to rise from its current stasis; balanced between Reality and Un.  The physical has already partially shut down.   There is only the barest of response.  The futile attempt of a partially paralyzed body refusing to accept its limitations.

The effort fails.  The dreamscape floods back stronger.  It spurs further resolve in me.  To awaken.  To take back control.  To arise from the chimerical fog.  How many times have I made such an attempt?  It’s near impossible to tell.  How much longer will the window hold back the wolf?  Why do I care?

After a seeming eternity, the bubble breaks.  I open my eyes and blearily sit up.  The show is over.  The dog is not here, having gone upstairs long before I laid myself on the couch.  The werewolf is no longer drooling angrily at my window.  The night outside is quiet.

I feel dispossessed and woozy.   Shaking off a full body shiver, I shut everything down and head for bed, though I know I have been jazzed up enough that I won’t sleep for a little while.


About I.M. Pangs

digital verbal smog creator
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6 Responses to Nightmarish Fog

  1. Autumnforest says:

    Oh, I’m so glad to hear someone else have this happen. It happened to me when I lived in LA. I fell asleep in front of the TV on the floor with pillows behind my head that I stole from the sofa. The TV show was rolling the credits on the screen and I halfway opened my eyes to see the scrawl. My first thought was “why can’t I move?” Then, I tried to read the screen and in my mind it was addresses and they were showing where to go now that the bomb had been dropped in LA. I remember trying desperately to swim to the surface and move my body, but was like being immersed so deeply in water, you can’t make it to the surface. I couldn’t command my body to move. I needed to read the screen and see where I was supposed to go! Then, I realized I couldn’t move because I was irradiated and it was too late. I collapsed and gave up the long struggle to open my eyes and move. I woke up some time later and couldn’t shake the memory. To this day, that particular sleep paralysis with lucidity sticks with me and I still get creeped out. Glad to know I’m not the only one that integrated the TV screen with the sleep state…

  2. DaleTheDoll says:

    Hey, welcome to my world, buddy! I’m like that 95% of the time. The other 5% when the owner ain’t looking, I get up and move around.

  3. Whenever my spouse leaves his radio on all night with BBC news droning on in the background, it makes for some very interesting dreams.

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