Sleepwalking

London is shifting hard toward winter suddenly. Last night I sort of woke from vivid dreams in the quiet time. It seemed logical to put my Harry Potter dressing gown on and leave the flat barefoot at 4.30am into the rain, basically still asleep. I had the nous to leave the doors open behind me, but I made it halfway down the street before undreaming enough to realise that I was just in dreamstate behaving strangely. In my belief there were Russians (is it the eighties?) trying to steal both my car and Brian’s bike. I put my hood up so I could pretend to be Rasputin (!) and frighten them with my … (No idea)

It’s the first instance of semi-lucid sleepwalking I can remember – I think the first I’ve ever done – and thankfully there were no criminals to be confronted by random mumbling Al-Man in his hooded gown. It was raining though and I slowly trod barefooted down the middle of the road through filthy puddles. Thank God I left the doors open to get back in or I might’ve slept out there. That’s the lucid bit, guiding the madness. I got back up to the flat and even washed my feet thoroughly in the bath without the light on before getting back into bed mostly still asleep, and according to the Fitbit I immediately crashed into deep sleep which works with what I can recall.

Today I’m curious about what I was doing to myself there internally, considering yesterday’s blog was partly about how I have a hand on the tiller, and about sleep cycles. It must be connected. On so many levels my subconscious is trying to fuck with me. More and more this walk will be a purge. I’ll have to get to know the shit I’m running on myself. This sort of stuff feels like the last death throes of an insane leviathan that happens to share a bed with me twice a week and thrice when it’s raining.

And this rain. Good God it affects my mood. I drove across town in the rain and saw this ancient city shining in the wet, how it has always been, foggy and filthy and strange. I had no fuel and Brian was contemplating a 30 quid Uber because all the transport infrastructure dies as soon as something is wet, and Uber goes in to 50,000,000% surge prices. He offered me fuel for a lift and I seized the chance to get out of the house. On the way it was fine, I had company. On the way back I kept on spontaneously weeping. For no reason other than that it’s dark and cold. I wanted to fall into someone in the way you only can when you’re in love. And it wasn’t helping that everyone on the radio was singing about love. And it has been so fucking long. I’ve become this guy who walks the streets in the small hours scaring imaginary monsters because there’s nobody to ask where the fuck I’m going at the outset.

Yeah ok fuck that noise, it’s just society funneling us into these bipartite relationships we are all suckers etc etc weddings = money for the church etc etc blah blah suckers. But cuddles. Cuddles are good. I miss cuddles.

It’s dark. I’m fine. Fuck it. I’m going to sleep and if I want to go wandering around pretending to be a mad monk from another century at 4am then so be it. I’ve still got a hand on the tiller, which is comforting. I won’t end up eating a cat, and if I do at least I’ll brush my teeth afterwards.

rasputin---the-mad-monk

Author: albarclay

This blog is a work of creative writing. Do not mistake it for truth. All opinions are mine and not that of my numerous employers.

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