Solipsism: the philosophical idea that "My mind is the only thing that I know exists."
Jack: Perchance to Dream
I don't sleep; I haven't needed to since Rose Tyler did whatever it was she did to me back on Satellite Five. Back in the 2002nd century. Or would that be ahead in the year 200,100? Whatever… When you're in league with a Time Lord, time becomes squishy. Suffice it to say The Doctor never really explained that whole "rejuvenation" deal as well as I would've liked; although I haven't pressed him hard on it, at least not yet. But ever since then, while I don't sleep, I do go into a kind of maintenance mode every day or two. It's more than resting, but less than slumber – although I am aware of my surroundings and quite lucid, I'm also very relaxed, my breathing and heartbeat slow way down, my eyes close, and my core temperature drops by a couple of degrees. And oh yeah, I dream.
The dreams are out of my control.
I'm not the kind of guy who likes having anything important out of his control. I guess you can say I'm your basic control freak; no news flash there. Because of it I'm not particularly sad to have left that whole need-for-sleep business behind. Face it: sleep isn't very pleasant – you start to feel weak, your body stops functioning normally, you can't stand, the life starts to ooze out of you, and ultimately you lose consciousness – it's pretty disagreeable, especially for people like me. So, right, evading the need to sleep isn't so bad at all.
However, I figure maybe dreaming is a different story – it's necessary – as everybody knows dreams are a mechanism for reinforcing memory pathways. In that respect I'm like all the other humans who have ever been born into this universe.
But I'm a whole lot unlike all those humans who have died. You see, I can't. Can't die, that is. I bruise, I bleed, I break, but I don't die. Not ever. I owe that craziness to the aforementioned Rose Tyler as well. I'm pretty sure this remarkable immortality drives my friend The Doctor bonkers during those rare times when he permits himself to think too much about it, but c'est la vie!
So yeah, I do dream. Sometimes my dreams are nightmares. Usually those nightmares are not nearly as scary as many of the real horror stories I've experienced during my life, starting with when I was a small child on the Boeshane Peninsula, and continuing up to the present day. Especially the present day. And sometimes they are pleasant, happy dreams. You know, blue skies, fluffy clouds, furry baby bunnies, gentle breezes, the whole nine yards. And sometimes they are deeply erotic.
If I could choose, I'd go with the third kind, no doubt about it. Mixed with a few of the second type, just for variety's sake. I'd prefer to avoid the nightmares altogether, if I could.
But like I said, the dreams are out of my control. And if I get too angsty over them, then, well, maybe I won't drift off into maintenance mode so easily and who knows what sort of mess that would leave me in?
"Perchance to dream," as the saying goes. I figure the dreaming is important, as well as natural. Even the scary dreams that leave me sweating like a pig (and where did that phrase come from I have to wonder) and my heart pounding like a tympani are necessary I suppose. The erotic dreams… well, they serve a particular and very important purpose as well these days. That's because these days, due to my current living arrangement, I'm, um, I guess the word is celibate. I'm not sure I'd be able to behave rationally without them – those erotic dreams – or even interact normally. In short, I don't think it'd be possible to do away with my erotic dreams, even if it was desirable to do so.
But this is something else.
I feel hands caressing my body. The fingers are feather light, cool and exquisitely sensitive. They know just where to touch me, and where to travel next. I am inflamed, nearly adrift from myself.
And it's not just the feel, it's the smell. It is intoxicating like nothing else. I don't need to look or touch. I'm light-headed with the scent. My breath catches and the blood throbbing through my veins is excruciating. I'm aghast at the strength of it. But then I can't help myself… I turn my head and open my eyes…
And I'm alone.
The throbbing becomes a vast pulsing emptiness waiting to be filled.
Damn. I roll over and punch the bedding into submission.
Then I close my eyes and an entirely different dream takes hold of me.