You know, sometimes when it’s 3am and I can’t fall asleep because I can’t shake the feeling that I’m a fighter captain on Batttlestar Galactica and we have some serious issues to attend to with the Cylon threat…
…I wonder what the heck is wrong with me.
Ever since I was little, I’ve used the time right after I get into bed as a sort of free-for-all story hour. I take the chance to insert myself into the book or movie or TV show I’ve been reading or watching, and figure out complex storylines in which I get to act heroically. It’s sort of like fan fiction that stays in my head, where I can be as Mary Sueish as I want and no one can call me on it.
Sometimes, though, when I’m watching or reading (or both, in this case–yesterday I was watching BSG and reading “Mockingjay,” the grimmest of the Hunger Games books) something gritty and dystopian, it can be difficult, in that twilight time between sleep and waking, to differentiate reality from fiction and to let go of the concerns that my character would have in her bleak world. And then it’s 7:30am and time for work and I didn’t actually sleep for more than an hour.
I remember watching “Silence of the Lambs” and being proud of how unaffected I was by it–until it came time to sleep and all I could see whenever my eyes closed was Buffalo Bill dancing around in front of a mirror. I knew that this was opening the door to nightmares, and stayed up half the night, shaking myself awake whenever my eyes would drift shut.
All I’m saying is that a good imagination’s a wonderful thing, but it would be nice to be able to hit the “reality switch” every so often. Just so I can remember that Cylons aren’t real and get in my eight hours of sleep before another day’s work.
…Cylons aren’t real, right?