wish by day - E

     I can't sleep.

     I mean that in a different way than you're used to hearing, probably. Chamomile isn't going to solve my problem, and neither is Valerian root. In fact, they might actually end the world. Or cause me to, anyway.

     That sounds really dramatic. Let me explain. It can be sort of confusing.

     Everyone's got something, a little something special they've always had. Call it a gift if you really want to. Thing is, most people don't know that they've got it. Sometimes a person will go through their whole life and never use it, or never be put into a situation where it can even be used. Talk about wasted potential, right? Sort of. Sometimes a gift isn't much of anything. Like the latent power to make plants grow more healthy, or being a natural insect repellent, or giving off a little glow that people can't perceive is there but can feel it (a lot of movie stars actually have something like this). Sometimes it's a phrase that they could utter a very specific way to have flames shoot from their fingertips. This phrase could be anything-- it could be something that could take their whole lifetime to say out loud once, or it could be "bagged milk" with a Scottish-sounding accent. It might not be flames, either. It could be a foam resembling cheez-whiz. I know how crazy it sounds, trust me, but a lot of people have gifts like that. A lot of people have much better gifts.

     I knew one guy who found out he could staple things with his mind. I'm not making this up-- he could really staple things together, just by thinking about it. He never told anyone but me, and he never used it for anything absurd that I ever heard about, but that was his gift. He said it saved him countless minutes at the office. I bet he wished he could materialize coffee. Mark was really into coffee.

     The people who know about gifts, my people, they tell me my gift is something special. I believe them. It certainly is something else altogether. They seem to think I'm part of something bigger, that I'm a prophet, or a piece of a prophecy, or a vessel of something. I don't know. I don't really feel like I'm any of those things, but I didn't really feel like I would have a special power someday either, so anything's possible. I also didn't really want this in the first place.

     Do you know what it's like to wake up when you're seven years old to find a unicorn in your backyard? No, but you can guess. Yes, it's really awesome. The first time. And suddenly having that cute boy you like in seventh grade ask you out all of a sudden is great too. Actually showing up to class naked? That is a traumatizing event that I wouldn't wish on my worst enemy. Well, maybe my worst enemy. But it's really traumatizing, take it from me.

     My gift is that my dreams sometimes come true. It could be any dream, doesn't matter how short or long, how ridiculous or mundane, anything. I have had situations and conversations take the most bizarre twists because I dreamed it happened the night before. A lot of the time, I don't even remember, and I have to think to myself, "Oh, right, the dream, of course. Why else would Becky try to warn me about an Egyptian plague. Of course Ethan doesn't know how to ride a unicycle, but that's what he took to school today. I don't recall the school choir being accompanied by banjos, but, well, here it is. I really need to ditch this bluegrass kick I'm on."

     Most of the time, the gift is harmless. After the dream is re-enacted, most things tend to go back to normal and nobody ever seems to be the wiser. I've always been kind of an upbeat person, so I guess a lot of my dreams wind up being junk leftover from the day, or stuff I worry about in my social life. My family had asked that I keep this journal to log these dreams. I did, for a long time, and every night before I slept they'd pore over it and try to fit it all into their prophecies or whatever. One night a few weeks ago, I dreamed of something really scary. I saw a vision of hell. The first real nightmare I can recall, and thank the stars above it didn't come true. Now they won't let me sleep, and I have to use this really weird form of meditation I've taken to calling "zoning out". It's not nearly as satisfying as sleeping, and I'm almost to the point where the world can literally go to hell because I just want to get some fucking shut-eye for real.

     Anyway, this is more of a personal journal I wanted to keep. Something for me, to help keep me sane until this whole "hell dream" thing blows over. It's kind of fun though. I might keep it up after. We'll see.

     Sleep and I have a strange relationship. I miss it a lot.