There’s a brief space of time just before sleep where dreams seep through the gates of consciousness. It isn’t fully a dream, because I know how I got there, and am capable—if compelled—of escaping. But I am often weary, and willing to just watch as sleep submerges my waking mind...
What I see I cannot say, it depends on the day. On certain nights I spend my final hours playing countless games of online chess. The games are fast (Blitz—5 minutes allotted to each player) and I slowly feel the sharpness of my mind begin to dull. I commit the most elementary mistakes: hung rooks, knights, and flagrant miscalculations. My mind loses its ability of symmetrical perception: the white and black squares seemingly slide and slice against one another, killing my sense of direction (white or black, I cannot tell which way is forward).
Soon after this I resign almost in rapture to my bed. I close my eyes and a feeling of exhaustion washes over me—not unlike usual sorts of exhaustion, when the mind blissfully exhales, when even the insomniac can descend into slumber with lithe ease. But my nights of chess have an added peculiarity.