Time Travel and the Pointlessness of Sleep

I tend to sleep in 2 hour shifts. Not quite long enough to dream.

The lucid half slumberesque thoughts that permeate my cortex tend to be of food, the restaurant buzz and clang and murmur of distant hungry patrons. I am usually in a dark dimly lit bistro creating some blisteringly bizarre new dish while I'm half dreaming.

Duck confit ravioli in a soft buttery sweet young pumpkin sauce. Just a whisper of coriander to blend the sweet with salty and to smooth out the fat. Served with a salad of paper thin julianned beets and shallots with a sesame oil and rice wine vinnagrette. Desert is a pink grapefruit curd served in wedged candied rinds of the fruit.

I loathe the nightmare of awakening far from that place.