On Siestas and related stuff.

If it's non-nocturnal there are two other categories dreaming can fall into, IMHO. Day-dreaming and during a siesta. The former's possibly my favourite. I feel no need to relenquish my hold upon the surreal to keep a foot in the mundane. Though of course, I am accused of failing to do so (keep myself grounded) often enough- but fantasy is really too fantastic to give up. Isn't it often the case?
But I digress. I wanted to talk about the dreams that often torment you during that much-needed siesta. Chennai, my good woman, (yes, yes, or man) is a freaking hot place. The thermometer's usually right up there in the forties or almost always in the late thirties. The humidity factor is high enough to be right-down oppressive. All this, coupled with the fact that like most people reading this, I'm human and am extremely susceptible to those post-luncheon yawns... throw in the extra factor that my exams got over recently and what MORE do you want?

Oh, yeah, i advocate afternoon naps all right. I love 'em. Just hate the after-effects that go with them. You wake up with a start feeling hot, nauseated and with that feeling in the mouth, y'know, remembering that last dream you had and oh... it just refuses to go away like a decent morning dream. You stagger out of bed (my "naps" extend for three hours from two-ish to five-ish) and the rest of the day is one long zombie-like episode. I am unable to shake that feeling of heaviness in my eyelids, that lazy creak that threatens to be heard each time I move a limb, that over-all feeling of having slept just a goddamn bit too much when you have the whole goddamn evening ahead of you (and it's so fine too) and absolutely zilch enthusiasm to get on with the day and out of the house.

And the dreams. Ugh. About a week ago I dreamt my Grandmom, Dad and I were trapped in the house along with a teenage murderess who had killed before and wouldn't hesitate to kill again.( Yuck. It pains me to think that my subconscious is prone to such cheap thrills). Well, eventually, it turned out during the dream that my perfectly innocuous father was a Detective and was going to save the day. Not too well, though, I got stabbed in the tum by this female and of course, woke with that horrible start. It left a sour aftertaste.

I don't do much siesta-ing now. Nah. The after-effects are too much for me to handle.