In many of my dreams, I am in a room with floor to ceiling bookshelves with a single chess board in the middle. There is an oddly colored persian rug under the table holding the chess board, and many books of the same color line the shelves. There a two simple, yet extemely comfortable wooden chairs on either side of the table. I find myself sitting in the chair facing various opponents from famous people, to friends, to nameless strangers whose faces just happened to stick in my mind that day. This being said, the dream:
A man in a dusty black cape is seated in the other chair this time. He has a rugged look about him. I cannot see what color his eyes are, as his shaggy, curly hair covers the top part of them. He has an extremely noticeable five o' clock shadow, and wrinkles in the corner of his eyes and mouth. The dark blue circles under his eyes look as though they are a permanent fixture on a face that has seen just a little too much.
He intoduces himself as Insomnia. Without the traditional handshake, he takes the first move. After the first seven moves from either of us the conversation is going absolutely nowhere; he keps quoting Better Than Ezra lyrics. I finally speak up.
"Why are you here? Check."
"Confrontation, my friend. You are having trouble sleeping. The only way to get to sleep is to figure out what's bothering you and to confront it. The only thing you are having trouble with is insomnia."
"But, I'm sleep now."
"Is that what you call losing conciousness in front of the television at 3am?"
I look at my watch. The face is a jumble of incoherent shapes that I can't decipher. I decide to take his word for it.
"Good point. So you are the reason I can't sleep?"
"In a way, yes. Checkmate. Good game."
"So that's it? Just like that you're leaving?"
"Yes. We confronted each other and you lost. Goodbye."
As he turns to leave I declare to his back that I don't like Better Than Ezra. He turns, smiles, and says "Neither do I."
