Sleepwalking

 Procrastinating today so practicing my writing skills - meandering piece with some wordplay....

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I began sleepwalking during daylight hours for most of the day every day in my early forties. It coincided with the celebration of the birthday which also happened to be the answer to that question “what is the meaning of life, the universe and everything”*. I confess, I was sleepwalking a lot during the day long before then. I had merely reached the age when I was prepared to acknowledge I had a problem. Apt that I chose to mark the moment on THAT day.

Rooftop party, overlooking the city skyline, perfect late Spring afternoon and evening, forty-two of my closest (and not so close) friends, many fabulous among them, some even dressed in theme. Music blaring the sounds of an alt-hipster set – a suitable soundtrack for inducing steady-state catatonic slumber. Cocktails sipped slowly given their potency – anything to avoid falling off the edge or down the flight of stairs that were unavoidable to move up into and down out of the space. Surrounded by late flowering succulents. I floated around the crowd, in an out of smaller circles, talking in my sleep, mimicking noises resembling conversation. All of it learned small talk, relying on instinct, deeply subconscious, none of it likely to be memorable to others in the minutes that followed, let alone the following morning. I certainly wouldn’t remember. I was asleep.

I am a walking, sort of breathing embodiment of a zombie. Yet to sample brains as food. I eat out of habit rather than appetite and have not craved anything for so long, I doubt any grey matter would sustain me even if I tried it. In the meantime, a waiter dressed like Marvin the Robot skulks about with trays of canapes trying too hard to remain downbeat as hungry guests sweep up the morsels laid out for their feeding pleasure. I dream in my shambling slumber that I could outgun this android for gravitas at the state of my world.

Near life experiences scattered throughout the years to this revelatory moment. From birth to that festive day. Came to the world premature. Barely survived my first, second, sixth, eleventh, twenty first, twenty-seventh or thirty-eighth years. When your heart stops beating with an almost singular rhythm regularity throughout your existence, just being in the stretches in-between seems a sensible response. A rare alternative saw an occasional electro-shock – jumping off the NZ Remarkables tandem hang-gliding woke me up with a jolt - heart throbbing so hard it might have burst out of my chest. The seconds passed sucking in the air. I wanted to sleepwalk again.

Now a walking miracle – the forty seventh year came with defying three in one hundred thousand survival odds. Not sure if I have been trying to convince myself or others every day since then - each day is a blessing. This has been my truth since I first joined the world. It has also been true that I never really joined it. Born a sleepwalker. Been a sleepwalker for decades. Embraced the habit with gusto on a rooftop giving the Marvin wannabe a taste of unhealthy competition.

I have been recently wondering if I should ever wake up? The constant dream-state has its benefits.  Reality blurred and symbol filled routine patterns define each day. Almost certain many around me are also sleep walking given the dull hum of movement mimics the clicking of keyboards on cell phones and laptops. Am I the slipstream in a storm, or is this just my imagination? The recurring nightmares not so advantageous. There’s only so many glass elevators flying in a whirlwind in the air before the wonk becomes the wobbles.

Do I want to experience other near-life episodes? The jolting heartbeat many years ago was frightening more for its unfamiliarity than the flowing blood itself.  Could canter with that rhythm instead of floating like a ghost. Invisible. Embers becoming flames. Let the fire burn brighter. Before I become stardust in the end.

Suggestions on activities that will wake me from my slumber most welcome.

 

 (*Note - Or at least what Deep Thought in Douglas Adam’s Hitchhikers Guide to the Galaxy provided, with infinite majesty and calm, as the answer to the question after seven and a half million years of contemplation.)