These dreams go on when I open my eyes...

It's not the best start to a day when you have had a bad dream and the feelings stay with you, throbbing at the limits of your memory and leaving you with the mental equivalent of having swallowed unexpected bile. It's particularly annoying, as, let's face it, who recalls their dreams accurately? Usually, all you get is (in my case, what with the teeth-grinding fun): a headache, neck pain, nagging feelings of doubt and doom, and possibly suspicion of those around you, if the protagonist was one of your nearest and dearest, or a colleague (this latter scenario is especially strange). I've had some intensely bizarre and bizarrely intense dream action involving various family and friends (and, ok, people I can't stand) over the years.

Despite being an adult, or trying to be, I still cannot quite traverse that line between the subconscious splatterings of my untidy sleeping mind and the clear thoughts of daytime (in theory, in theory...). I recall going to work one morning many years ago, convinced that a chap called Yann was about to randomly get up from his manky black office chair, whirl around in the middle of the newsroom, making his cloak appear as he did so, and cast terrible spells on us, having turned into a wizard or something of that ilk. I stared at him all day. Then there are the dreams of planes crashing. Those aren't so good when you live nearish to the flight path of one of London's busiest airports. Hmm.

One thing I have noticed is that if I sleep on my back, with my hands on my stomach or chest, I always have a bad dream. The good thing is that by lying that way, I usually fall asleep within minutes (take that, insomnia, you fool!), but the sacrifice I make is that I'll be awake – with a jolt – once I get into REM sleep (something that insomnia took from me, making me slightly crazed). What to do? How should I lie down? I can't lie on my stomach, which is my preferred sleeping position, as I have lower back pain at present and the twist in my spine if I am on my front hurts rather a lot. On to my back it is. Oh dear.

Diamond sky

I remember some of the dream I had last night. It was one of the most beautiful I've had to date. There were people I love in it, doing things that I can no longer recall. I think, possibly, that I even flew, soared, at one point.

Then, there was one part where I looked up at the sky – in daytime – and saw thousands of stars glittering like diamonds. There was no blue sky, in fact there may well have been cloud, but the sky was breathtakingly stunning with the most scintillating display imaginable. Whatever it all means, it left me feeling uplifted.

Coat me in it

There is a coat that I really want. I don't need it. I want it. It's so lovely that when I saw it in the window of the shop I instantly coveted it and, erm, gasped. It's long, warm and very stylish, nipped in at the waist. It's tweed and won't get dirty like my cream winter coat, which has been worn to death and now has a shredded lining and costs a fortune to keep clean.

But it's a bit expensive for a person who doesn't have that much work on. I check the website of the store daily to see if it has been reduced, but it hasn't. I did, however, dream about said coat last night. In fact, I had three or four dreams about the coat. I kept waking up, falling back to sleep and there it would be in my subconscious, tempting me...

Argh. What to do?!

Craig Charles in my head

I didn't sleep well last night. The reason? I had a dream – a nightmare in fact. Craig Charles was running down a street, chasing me. I was running for my life. Running as though I had jets under my feet. Running because Craig Charles was chasing me with a paper aeroplane in his hand.

Yes. He let go of the – erm – paper plane and I ducked. It flew quite well but didn't hit me. After this, Craig changed into some unidentified assailant armed with something shiny, and at that point I woke up. Well, I screamed in my sleep and woke myself up and then was so scared that I couldn't get back to sleep.

I had had beans on toast for dinner and some Guinness at a pub quiz. Not a trace of cheese, but I'm not having that combo again, I tell you.

Girl of my dreams

GFG (Ground Floor Girl) is a pain in the arse. She's rude, selfish, messy, unfriendly and very odd.

And, as I discovered by listening through the wall, she is selling her flat soon. Such a shame.

(Normally, I would have scruples about eavesdropping. But where she is concerned, I am quite happy to throw them out the window – as she does with her skanky fag-ends.)

Oh, yes, I had a dream this morning that I was telling GFG exactly what I thought of her. It was quite satisfying. Maybe dreams can come true.

Thought spinners unite

This has been a strange few weeks (I may have said that before on this blog). My mind has been a pickle. It has been pickled. Not in excess alcohol, but in excess thought. The amount of pressure in my head has been immense. It has caused me to sleep fitfully and dream the most bizarre, and often deeply disturbing, dreams – nightmares, in fact.

The brain is incredible. Literally in-credible. Its ability to spin thoughts into garish garments with three legs and four holes for heads is just phenomenal. At times, I have felt as though my head will explode. It happened slowly – one thing after another. Slowly, slowly, break the camel's back (sorry to mix metaphors)...

When One Thing after Another becomes hump-shattering, you just can't think. Clarity becomes an abstract concept and you lose your words. You just can't speak for the pressure cooker in your head. Why do humans do this? (Well, some humans...) Do the people that have tendencies towards thought spinning have an eye for the minutiae, nuance and unsaid that makes them perceptive where others simply drift by? Does this enrich? (I think it does – to a point.) Or, would their lives be easier if they could switch off and deal only in the factual? Hmm.

Sleep is magic

It really is. I cannot begin to explain how much better I feel for a good night's sleep. After Wednesday night's awful insomnia, when my head was filled with exhaustion and the accompanying craziness that it brings, I needed serious rest. The brain, when tired has the capacity to be quite self-destructive.

I was so tired yesterday that I ached like I'd been beaten. But I was determined to go to kung fu later so had a little lie down in the sun with M, my rabbit, sitting by my knees. Inevitably I dozed for about 20 minutes. I didn't think it would interfere with my sleep at night, as I was really beyond it and the exercise put paid to any energy left slopping around my bones.

Anyway, I did sleep. I had a nightmare about an awful train crash that woke me violently. It was vivid and frightening. But apart from that little brain treat, I did sleep...

Hot stuff

Can you imagine what it's like to do a session of kung fu in humidity, when the air is heavy, the wind is absent and the sun is burning through the haze? It's tough. You drip with sweat. Your hair sticks to your head. Your skin is wet and warm.

There were quite a few of us at class despite the sauna-esque heat. We flocked to the door during our two-minute break and breathed in the slightly cooler air. But we had all forgotten to ask instructor N whether we could leave the main room (which we need to do so he can keep track of us for health and safety reasons; someone might drop dead and he wouldn't know, he said). So, he told us off and made us do 50 press ups. I won't forget again. Some people looked cool – I was convinced I looked like a roast chicken, oily and brown. My friend, V, told me off for worrying that my upper arms looked like a scrotum (but some friendly teasing did ensue).

I wished the storm that was brewing would arrive during the class, and bring with it a breeze and the smell of earth in summer rain, which has got to be one of the best aromas on the planet. The sky cracked beautifully at about 10.30pm and the rain fell hard at about midnight. I found it difficult to sleep but the panic that used to occupy my mind this time last year under similar circumstances didn't even peep at me. I gave into it. What else could you do on a hot, stormy night? Wasn't insomnia a given? The fan was too noisy so I switched it off, and my throat was dry. I let my mind wander, a bicycle of thoughts gathering speed down a mental hill. Eventually, probably at about 2am, I fell asleep.

Had a horrible dream though – I was being sick, something red, like chilli, was coming out of my mouth. I woke with heartburn. No great message in that one then...

Eight of wands

It was my birthday during the early hours. I woke having had the eight of wands, a tarot card, going through a sequence of dreams. Often I forget such details but this, to me, seemed significant and it was clearly in my head.

I wasn't sure, in my dreams, what the card meant, although in waking life I know it is a card of action. So, to be sure, I have looked it up. If it is a portent of what is to come, I am pleased. It's all about action, bowl-you-over energy, newness, doing, having passion for things, and moving on from things that may have held you back. Communication is meant to be good, too. It's pretty powerful. Lovely.

Muggy, fuggy

My head feels as though someone has piped in a load of plasticine and followed it up with some glue and treacle for good measure.

My arms are heavy and my shoulders ache so much that I could hardly lift them to wash my hair last night (due to strenuous kung fu). Echoes of my tiredness at its worst sneaked back into my not-very-distant memory, making me glad that those cruel days and nights are now fewer.

So, at least I know what has caused the arm ache. But, as for my head... There are several possibilities. It could be the weather, the warm, humid, soporific, slow dance of weather that has sat around my being today. Or it could be a poor night's sleep, not helped by said weather. I need a storm. I want a mad, lashing, crashing storm. One where the sky is split once then twice, then explodes again into a furious mass of fiery energy. It all seems pent up now. Waiting.

Another possibility for the dullness in my head could be as per my last post – a sort of 'it's my birthday in a few days... hmmm' kind of thing. What can I do about that? Not a lot. I don't care for ages. They don't bother me. I say something along the lines of 'Oh, I'm 38' now and then, but what does it really matter?

The third reason is a bit odd but I had a dream that I was walking through a particularly rough part of London. I had a gun with me. I was a spy, I think. I can recall the weight of metal in my hand, the coolness of the steel, the rough pattern moulded into the part you hold. In the dream, the gun was like part of my hand, it would save me from the baddies. And so I went, at an exhausting pace, from corridor to room, hiding under tables, in cupboards, behind walls, like some kind of James Bond. When I woke, I felt as though I had been living it. It was like a film.

Maybe it's all of the above and once the storm has come and gone, taking with it any silly birthday woes, and I've had a better night's sleep, the fug will lift, leaving behind it a warm, fresh sensation, like when you stand in torrential rain in the tropics (or a stupidly hot London), smelling the earth and air, and are able to breathe again.

Russell Brand in my head

I watched Russell Brand (and the other guests Ashton Kutcher and Ronnie Corbett) on Jonathan Ross last night. And then I had a dream about him (more later).

I've always liked Russell Brand – since his very early days presenting Big Brother's Big Mouth a few years ago. I find him funny and love his way with words – he is articulate, that's for sure. He's a mad, pirate-esque rogue, and I like the fact that he is different and is controversial. People who call him stupid are sadly mistaken. One thing he is not, is stupid. I can see why he irritates some people but he is someone you either get or you don't. To call him stupid is stupid.

Anyway, last night, in my dream, I was staying at Russell's house, which was in fact a castle. It was a large place set in rambling grounds. It had tiny windows (like slits where arrows would be fired from) and larger ones, that had sturdy locks. He had cooked dinner for me, S, and some other people who had been invited and set it out on a large wooden table. There was a graveyard outside, a stormy, gothic place with fallen stones and crumbling headstones on uneven ground.

The scene changed and I was back inside, in a hall that reminded me of school assembly, and there was Russell, flitting in and out like a big, black crow of a man. Next thing, I realised I had lost my green handbag with all that it contained (I don't have a green handbag and if I did, it wouldn't be the shade of green that appeared in dreamland...). Someone had stolen my purse, keys, phone... Russell was very upset by this. I felt frustrated that I'd have to sort all those things out. Then, Russell started to show me various antiques around the place. And that was that. I dare anyone to psychoanalyse that one!

Eh?

This morning I dreamed that my mum told me that I am adopted. In this sleep-state, I was shocked, troubled, looking for S so that I could tell him, but he was nowhere to be seen in dreamland.

It's very odd. I mean, there's no possibility that I'm adopted – I share many of my parents' characteristics (physical and otherwise). I'm close to them, too (so there's no rift that could have sparked this uncomfortable dream). My dad was around, going in and out of the dream, saying it was about time they told me. They seemed sad.

Then, as with dreams, it was nighttime and I was outside in the street of my childhood home. First, someone drove off in my car – my old car that I owned for 15 years. I ran but couldn't catch them as there was snow on the ground. Then, my rabbit, M, was lost outside – I found her and scooped her up. She was wet and shaking, her soft, dark fur was covered in snowflakes. When I awoke, I pulled back the curtains to see that snow is falling...

Dreamboot

I had a very detailed dream last night/this morning about a gorgeous pair of shoes. Actually, they were shoe-boots, which in waking life always gape around my ankles. These were tan, leather, had a sort of lacing thing going on and were wonderful. They cost £385 but I still bought them. I even had the slightly sick feeling I get when I'm buying something that I like to call an 'investment'... Expensive dream, that.

Dream girl

The girl was about five, immaculately dressed in white and pink. She stepped forward and started to sing. But no words came out. Her mouth moved, she carried on, trying. But nothing except the odd shadows of words emerged. She was there to sing for the Queen. The Queen didn't seem interested.

I watched the child curiously while noticing two kittens there in front of me, in a box. I picked them up and they lay still, content, as I stroked their fur. They nestled into me, warm and silky. I remarked, to no one in particular: "Look at how my kittens have grown."

Then a parachutist came into view, except he was taking off, not landing. Bizarrely, his chute was open; he seemed rocket-propelled. He was scared. Those around were nervous. I was concerned about the little cats and held them close.

And then, the alarm bleeped me awake. I told myself I must remember this dream: it means something. S came back into the bedroom and I told him the first part about the voiceless child, and it made me cry.