Left to my own (de)vices

One of the very few things that I resent about our bouncy puppies is that they have robbed me of the regular chance to experience one of the greatest pleasures in Life. It isn’t that I really mind getting up early – there are quite a lot of nice things about getting up at the same time as the sun or, indeed, even before it! What I do hate is the having-to-get-up-straight-away in order to avoid puddles-that-soak-stinkily-into-the-ridiculously-absorbent-floor-tiles-unless-you-clean-them-up-immediately, that the sound of a whining or barking puppy necessitates.

I have always loved that special time in the morning that fills the space between dreamy sleep, and wide-eyed wakefulness. That space where coming to one’s senses occurs in a leisurely fashion, and conscious thought butts up comfortably against the smudgy soft world of the under-brain and gets its back scratched. I love the way in which the frayed edges of passing dreams merge seamlessly into the first fresh conscious thoughts of the day, which are sparkly and clean before reality has a chance to sully them with neuroses.

And I am always happier when I have had the chance to look at my weird and wonderful dreams through the rational lens of consciousness. I feel as if I have a fighting chance of detecting and guarding against their surreptitious influence over me, if I can just get a handle on them, and fix them in a place where they can be studied from different angles. I suspect that those sneaky dreams that manage to occur and disappear before consciousness can capture them are responsible for all sorts of subliminal shenanigans that are at least partially responsible for me being the psychological freak that I am.

If, therefore, I am ripped untimely from the Mother of All Sleeps by something requiring my urgent attention, I suffer a moment’s angst as the vestiges of the last dream slip through my brain’s clutching fingers, like sand through a sieve, and are lost forever in the sea of subconsciousness. I feel bereft, as if I had lost a memory of something dear to me.

So this morning, without Simon’s sensible presence to keep me on the straight and narrow (he’s in Dover for a few days), I did things a little differently. Instead of leaping out of bed action-woman style, getting all dressed up against the elements, and taking the desperate doggies out into the dark morning for their routine walk (whereby I get to choose precisely where they defecate), I merely tumbled into my dressing gown with eyes still half closed, opened the front door and let them disappear into the darkness unfettered. Then, after a deft bit of shuffling with bowls of animal food, I managed to trick all the kittens back outside, entice the puppies back into the house, turn off all the lights and GO BACK TO BED.

Oh, what deep and unparalleled joy! What bliss! What cosy, snugly, warm and wondrous deliciousness. In the blink of a briefly opened eye I was back in the Land of Nod, and dreaming my way to a gentle day of happiness and good humour. I only actually slept for about another fifteen minutes, but that didn’t matter. What mattered was that after the little sleep, I could wake SLOWLY. I could amble about in the flower-filled meadows of semi-consciousness, wander aimlessly through leafy forests of pleasant thought and dip my mind’s toes the babbling brook of possibility. Half asleep and half awake, in the Timeless Kingdom of Contemplation, where neurons fire unconstrained and ideas pop up like rainbow fish in a clear pool, spreading ripples out and out and out, until they weave into the weeds at the margins of consciousness.

Of course, ninety-five percent of the thoughts that occur to me in this twilight realm of mental play-time are rubbish, and are swiftly despatched into the Bin of Stupid Ideas as soon as daytime reality kicks in. But occasionally Something Good comes into being. Like a solution to an intransigent problem, or a tune for a new guitar song, or the inspiration for a blog post, or the idea that we could give up work, move to France and get some llamas. And even if most of the beautiful thoughts I have whilst lolling indolently in this waiting-room to the day turn to don’t-be-ridiculous dust in the harsh light of my meeting with reality, I find I welcome the day with a softer, cheerier heart, buoyed up by the conviction that Life will be sprinkled with the glittery frosting of Fortuity if I take just a little time each morning to Let It Be.