I missed writing yesterday. I had started thinking what I was going to write and then never sat down to do it.

I think talking about dreams is boring. I think listening to people recount their dreams is intolerable. Dreams are not interesting, portentious or noteworthy to me. I rarely even think about my own dreams when I remember them. 

I often have bad dreams--always a variation on the same haunted house dream. I've been prone to sleep paralysis ever since I was a teenager and when I have the haunted house dream, it often moves into sleep paralysis as I try to wake myself from it. The other night, I had a terribly unpleasant dream completely unlike my haunted house dream, with no sleep paralysis of any sort, which I did not wake from (rather I slept through until morning, not knowing I'd had a bad dream until hours later when I suddenly remembered it in vivid detail).

That's novel. 

I'm not a good sleeper. I rarely have difficulty falling asleep, or rather, when I do have difficulty falling asleep, if I just stop trying for a short while, I'll have no trouble when I try again. But I have difficulty staying asleep. If I wake in the middle of the night, I'm lucky if I spend the next few hours drifting in and out of sleep. I spend a lot of time tired. I took Ambien for years but I stopped. 

I did not have any issues with it--no fugues, no sleepwalking, no real difficulty waking, but I just stopped taking it. It was just easier.

Took a long walk on the Lake this weekend. The Lake is full.

8/2 '20