The Tatler Nose’s Dream Journal

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March 2, 2017 | BY The Tatler Nose

Here, as my sleep therapist has politely insisted, are the little dots that disrupt one's slumber.

TATLER FOCUS

I don’t do diaries. Firstly, who has the time? Secondly, aren’t they a girl-thing? But, on the advice of my sleep therapist Jen, I am to keep a daily log of random thoughts in the hope that she might find an explanation to my interrupted sleep. A month of waking up at 3 am every morning is the kind of disruption I don’t like. It has become intolerable.

So Jen, you get your way. Here is my log (let’s not call it a diary).

 Dream Journal Log #1 

“Today, as I was subediting my 12th feature story, my mind started to drift to last year’s jaunt with Gabby to Ranthambore. A majestic holiday, on all levels. The Oberoi was sublime, the wild animals even more so. Gabby says the mystic of India is like a drug that courses through her blood. Maybe that’s the malady that’s causing my sleeplessness. Maybe my subconscious self is hankering to escape this urban wasteland and set myself free into the jungle where even the wild panthers are less dangerous than the cougars in the office. Until my next escape, I might need a memento to remind myself that freedom is just a plane-ride away …”

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 Dream Journal Log #2 

“People are inventing apps with a million followers and selling companies for US$40m profit. And what’s my claim to fame? A closet of cashmere turtlenecks. Is the stench of mediocrity robbing me of peaceful sleep? I better snap out of this before Mum hears about it. The last time I shared my self-doubt with her, she got annoyed and said it was impossible for a ‘solitaire extraordinaire’ like her to produce a scion of low quality. I suppose in some way, she is right. I may not be a millionaire but my (impeccable) taste, my ability to discern between good and great, is something money cannot buy. It’s my birthright as the only son of the dame that is my mother. Long live the Queen.”

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 Dream Journal Log #3

“I may have identified the key cause of my 3 am awakenings. I feel time is flying by like a relentless tourbillon and I have yet to do what I have set out to do, like starting Mandarin classes, and signing up for Hawaiian Lomilomi, and acquiring my master of malt whisky, and resuming my Jujitsu course. What is it about this excessive, rushed society we live in that makes me feel that I’m running out of time, and that if I’m not juggling 15 projects, I’m just not living? Well, this insanity stops right here. From today onwards, I aim to live an hour at a time, and what will drive me will be the simple success of having lived the last hour in unfettered serenity. Tick-tock shall be the calming rhythm of a metronome that reminds me that Life is music when it is handled with a slow, steady hand.”

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 Dream Journal Log #4

“I’m feeling all loved up this week. Not in a romantic way, but in a love-thy-neighbour way. People don’t show you concern because they need to; they shower you with love because they choose to. Surely that deserves reciprocation? So this morning, I took the chance to thank the auntie who lives opposite me for watering my ferns everyday, and the guard Mr Aru (he said to call him that because I kept tripping up on ‘Arumugathamudhu’) for receiving my Mr Porter packages while I’m at work. It was priceless, seeing their awkward expressions when I presented them with bouquets of cymbidiums! And of course there’s Bo, the dog who is really too lazy to wag his tail but does it every now and then to make his love-starved owner happy. I would stick my neck out for this dog any day. In fact, I’d get him a matching LOVE bracelet if only Cartier would make one for his furry neck. Until then, he’s happy to settle for a nice, organic rawhide treat …”

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