I went to bed very early last night– about 9:00 pm. I know, it might not be very early for you, but it was for me, and it was a strange experience. I haven’t been sleeping much lately, so after a not-so-great day yesterday I decided to just call it quits early on. My body seemed kind of surprised to get so much sleep, however, so it was an interesting night. I woke up at midnight, and again at 4, and again at 6, and so on– and dreamed the whole time.

But even though that sounds like I tossed and turned, I didn’t. It was actually very relaxing. Lately, I’ve been stressing a lot about time: I don’t seem to have enough of it. I’m run off my feet everywhere I go– I need to wake up in the morning and run to be at work, and then I need to run home to get more writing done. I’ve got errands that I need to run on the weekend, and I’ve got deadlines that need to be met and email that needs to be replied to almost every hour of the day. My brother was just in town this past week, and while it was a pleasure to have him here, it turned out to be quite a drain on my time– I had to get all of my usual work done, and make sure I spent time with him as well.

So that’s why, when I had to give my parents a gift, but had left the card for it in St. Louis, I was surprised to find myself there. I was sitting in my old bedroom, with their wrapped gift and their card in front of me, and I signed it with a greeting and my name. I had been hoping to drop the gift and card off and then get back to Chicago without them realizing I’d been there, but I heard my mother at my bedroom door, and it was too late– she opened it to see me in her house.

She was happy to see me (and even happier that I’d brought the gift and the card), but she was concerned that I’d made the trip down to Chicago on a weekday– didn’t I have to get to work? I looked at my watch, which, strangely enough, said 11:00 am. The reason that was strange was because I remembered having been in Chicago, picking out the gift, at 9 am. How could I have possibly made it to St. Louis in two hours?

This has been another time concern lately. I’ve been wanting to go back to St. Louis to see my parents (they just retired in January) and my friends, but the five hour drive not only means I have to go on the weekend, but also means my weekends are shot, not to mention my gas budget and sometimes my car (it’s broken down twice on trips there and back). So this was a very weird puzzle for me– how did I make it to St. Louis in two hours? And how would I get back in time for work? Any trip back would be at least five hours, which would mean I wouldn’t be able to show up at the office until 4, and while I can sometimes fudge it a half hour or so, showing up at 4 would not be a good idea for my continued employment.

So I sat in my bedroom in St. Louis while my mom questioned me and I thought– how had I made that trip in the two hours from 9 to 11? And then it came to me. I must have flown. Yes, that was it. I must have gone to the airport in Chicago, jumped on a plane, and then drove my car to their house in St. Louis. I would have had to be lucky (the plane must have taken off right as I sat down), but the timing worked out right. I definitely flew down to St. Louis that morning, and that’s how I made the trip in two hours. It must have cost me a bit of money, but it was a small price to pay for such a miraculous teleportation.

But wait. There was one more problem. How was I to get back? I distinctly remembered driving my car from the St. Louis airport to my house now, and there was no way I could get it back to Chicago with me on the plane, short of paying way too much money (in fact, there was no way I could have brought it down with me, but I couldn’t worry about that now, I had to get back to work). I could leave it in St. Louis, but that would just be a pain, having to take public transportation around Chicago all the time (not to mention that taking the train in from the airport might actually add the extra three hours on to my trip).

So how would I get back to Chicago? There seemed no way. This was a concern.

The trip back seemed almost as inexplicable as the trip coming. A two hour journey to St. Louis was a welcome change, but it wasn’t really worth it if I had to deal with all these complications– cars appearing in the wrong city, lots of money spent, and having to be back at work, five hours away, two if I flew, in a matter of minutes. I couldn’t even remember what the gift was at this point, and frankly, it didn’t seem very important. How was I going to get back to Chicago?

And then, gently, I realized I had gone to bed at 9 pm the night before. I realized that, to get back to Chicago, all I had to do was open my eyes.

I did. And I sat up, on my bed, back in my apartment in Chicago.

It was 9 am. I had slept for twelve hours. And dreamed the whole time.