Dreaming of everything but you

I've just had one of those miserable dream-a-thons where I was systematically bombarded by the realization there is no afterlife, showing up at school with no clothes, taking a critical test without knowing anything whatsoever about the subject, running for my life in a city ravaged by war, and of course joining a league of boxing gorillas disguised as leaders of the world, as interpreted by housewives.

I wish I could, for a change, truly sleep. To have a long, quiet night spent in peaceful relaxation. To have no epic yarns spun fitfully by a bored brain. To keep my eyes shut, my body still, my breathing steady. It's like an itch I haven't scratched for years. I see children carrying no cares with them to the next day, who pass their nights as though momentarily liberated from existence. To sleep, to be really dead to the world, must be glorious.