Tag Archives: dreams

‘I had a dream that I was awake and I woke up to find myself asleep.’ Stan Laurel.

I love to watch my dogs sleep.  They always look so comfortable and content.  Unlike me, they never seem to suffer from disturbed sleep. No tossing, no turning, no thrashing about.  (No thumping the pillows or rearranging the bedclothes.)  They just find a nice, sweet spot, turn around three times, and settle in.  I often wonder what they dream about.  “Chasing rabbits,” my dad would say.  Watching Maudie now and listening to her excited little ‘yip-yips’ as her nose twitches and her feet paw the air, it’s easy to imagine that’s exactly what she’s doing (although I don’t know that Maudie has ever seen a real bunny . . . )

Scientists have been performing sleep and dream studies for decades but still do not seem to be 100% agreed on why we dream.  The most popular theory is that dreams work together with sleep to help the brain sort through the information it has collected during our waking hours.  Dreaming helps us process what to remember and what to forget.

As it seems that humans and dogs have very similar sleep cycles (stages of wakefulness, rapid eye movement (REM) and slow wave deep sleep) perhaps dogs dream for exactly the same reason we do.  Rather than chasing rabbits, Maudie is probably reliving all the sights, sounds and smells she encountered during the day, deciding which ones she should discard and which ones are important enough to keep (there’s a new big scary dog moved in around the corner . . . the little kid down the street always has lollies in his pockets . . . I hid my favourite ball on the couch behind the cushion . . .)

I rarely remember my own dreams.  I know I do dream, and dream often, but I rarely remember the details.  This past week I has been a little different.  I have had some seriously weird dreams.  Really vivid, surreal, almost nightmarish dreams—some so freaky they remained with me when I woke.  I was trying to think why that would be—why these dreams seemed so different—and then I had a thought (it happens sometimes) . . . could my whacked-out dreams be an unexpected by-product of all the (industrial strength) flu medication I have recently been taking?

I had never really thought about that before but now I was curious, so I looked it up.  (I looked it up on the web, because who reads the teeny-tiny printed (‘Please read carefully’) foldouts that come in the medication boxes?  I tried that once.  Not only did I give myself serious eye strain, but the list of possible life-threatening side effects nearly scared me to death . . . )  Anyway, I found that there are in fact numerous drugs used in cough, cold, flu, allergy, motion sickness and (get this) insomnia medications, which have been linked to dream-altering states and vivid nightmares.

(How unfair would it be to be suffering from insomnia, only to take prescribed meds, finally fall asleep and then be hit by screaming nightmares. Talk about adding insult to injury!)

Weird dreams have also been noted as a side effect of anti-depressants, pain medications, blood-pressure meds and drugs to help people stop smoking.  So it seems that while we are happily ingesting any and all pharmaceuticals to cure whatever ails us, we are also unwittingly inviting in all manner of creeping night terrors to join us in our misery as well!

Happily, so far, my girls have been healthy enough that I haven’t had to ply any of them with much medication of any sort, but my own experience this week has made me realise that this is something I should probably bear in mind should they need any ‘medicating’ in the future.  If their sleep patterns are indeed akin to ours, it stands to reason that any drugs they receive might well affect their sleep patterns (and dreams) too.

I admit, this somewhat worrying to me.  Maudie is a happy little dog and would probably quickly shrug off any bad dream (just wave her ball under her nose and she’d be good to go) but Mabel and Molly are both somewhat highly strung at the best of times (that’s putting it politely) and the idea of them (and therefore me) having to cope with raging bouts of doggie-nightmares doesn’t quite bear thinking about . . .


Posted by on June 30, 2017 in Uncategorized


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‘The best cure for insomnia is to get a lot of sleep.’ W. C. Fields.

Saturday is usually my ‘chores’ day.  As there is only me in the house it is easy enough to keep it clean and tidy during the week and, quite honestly, I can’t be bothered running around doing errands or household chores after being at work all day.  I’d rather go home, walk and feed the dogs, have dinner and then relax by doing a bit of reading or sketching or catching up on the telly . . .

choresSo last Saturday was no different.  I was up early and into it.  Mabel, Maude I went for a long early morning walk (Molly doesn’t ‘do’ mornings) and when we came back I put the washing on, hoovered and dusted, clipped Molly, mowed the lawns, swept the paths and weeded the garden (at least until I decided I was fighting a losing battle and went and had a cup of tea instead).  Then I walked the dogs again (honestly they have no idea what a good mother I am to them) and even managed to watch an old movie and get some sketching in.   It was a productive day and by the time I went to bed on Saturday night I was pooped, and ready for a good sleep.

And I did fall asleep, almost immediately.

But then I woke up again. 12.45am.  Had a noise woken me up?  Not likely—the dogs were all still fast asleep (Molly snoring happily as usual).  Did I have a weird dream?  Not that I recalled. Did I need to go to the bathroom?  Not really—but I got up and went anyway, just in case.

Then I climbed back into into bed, settled myself comfortably and closed my eyes.

sleeplessnessAnd I lay there . . . and lay there . . . and lay there.  Staring at the ceiling. And then I heard the cuckoo-bird.  Do you know it is impossible to ‘unhear’ a cuckoo once you have heard it?  Their call just continues to drill unceasingly into your brain. So I rolled over and pulled the covers over my head (Mabel grumbled at me) . . . but then I got too hot and threw the covers back (another doggie grumble).   I squeezed my eyes shut and tried to clear my mind.  I even distinctly remember saying to myself ‘don’t think about anything . . . don’t think about anything . . . don’t think about anything . . . ‘.  Sigh.  Too late.

Have you ever actually listened to the crap that goes on inside your head when you are wide awake in the middle of the night?  Okay.  I’ll rephrase that (I shouldn’t just assume that because there is crap in my head that there is also crap in yours).  What I meant to say was—have you ever really paid attention to the thoughts and notions that run around and around and around in your brain when all you want to do is switch off and sleep?   It’s weird, stream-of-consciousness stuff, with no seeming rhyme or reason.

gilmore-girls-haikuLorelai Gilmore knew—’My brain is a wild jungle full of scary gibberish. I’m writing a letter, I can’t write a letter, why can’t I write a letter? I’m wearing a green dress, I wish I was wearing my blue dress, my blue dress is at the cleaners. The Germans wore gray, you wore blue, ‘Casablanca’ is such a good movie. Casablanca, the White House, Bush. Why don’t I drive a hybrid car? I should really drive a hybrid car. I should really take my bicycle to work. Bicycle, unicycle, unitard. Hockey puck, rattlesnake, monkey, monkey, underpants!’

Once upon a time I used to sleep really well.  Seven or eight hours of (uninterrupted) sleep was the norm.  Alas, no longer.  I know that our sleep patterns change as we get older (menopause has a lot to answer for) but knowing that doesn’t always help. I already follow most of the ‘recommendations’ that are out there.  I get up at the same time every morning (even weekends and holidays) and usually go to bed around the same time at night.  I exercise regularly.  I avoid caffeine and (sigh) alcohol in the evenings.  I don’t use the computer in the evening either (I learned very early on that if I write in the evenings I will inevitably wake up in the wee small hours ‘editing’ what I had written earlier).  I even keep a notebook by the bed in case I wake up thinking ‘OMG I have to remember to do that . . . ‘ so I can jot it down, thereby (supposedly) allowing my overwrought brain the peace of mind it needs to get right back to sleep.  (Yeah, right.)

breatheIn desperation in the past I have even tried deep breathing techniques. Deep breath in for four, hold, breathe out.  Breathe in for four, hold, breathe out. This generally only succeeded in me focusing so much on the counting that I either mucked up my number sequences or completely forgot to breathe at all (which was not entirely helpful).  It also usually brought at least one of the dogs over to delicately lay a cold wet nose upon my cheek, curious as to why Mum was breathing so funny . . .

Anyway, long story shortI hardly slept at all that night.  I was still clock-watching at 2.00am . . . 2.30am . .  3.00am.  At 4.00am I gave in.  I got up, dressed and took Maudie out for a (very) early morning walk.  (Mabel was still grumpy about me disturbing her sleep and refused to go with us.)  Maudie and I actually had a very lovely walk.  It was cool and calm and quietbut that doesn’t mean I want to be up and out walking quite that early every morning.

So I don’t know what the answer ismaybe there is no answer.  Maybe this is just the way it is now and I should stop whining about it.   Just suck it up and deal with it.

zzzzzAlthough, you know, legend has it that if you can’t sleep it means that you are awake in someone else’s dream.  Mmmmmm.

You know, if you all could stop dreaming about me . . . just for a little while  . . .  that might be really helpful . . .   🙂


Posted by on September 16, 2016 in Uncategorized


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