Now, even with this Pintrest bed, I don't sleep well. At all. I usually manage about 4 or 5 hours a night, giving up on my dreams of dreaming at around 3/4am. This unusual 'sleeping pattern' means I get tired in the middle of the day.
One sunny afternoon, I was feeling extra tired so treated myself to a mid-day nap. With my window slightly ajar, partially covered by the curtain lazily draped over it, I snoozed to the songs of birds and the hum of passing cars.
I remember my dream distinctly. A friend had bought another friend of ours a surprise gift. The brown parcel, however, got mixed up in some scenario that meant it got delivered to the friend, with their name on it, ruining the surprise. Looking back on it now, dream James thought this to be a bigger deal than it was.
I was woken up suddenly. There was an aggressive knocking at my front door that rattled the entire house. Dealing with this, however, was not on my agenda. So, with a 'not today Satan' attitude, I did what any sleepy student would do and ignored it.
Back in my dream, I was enlisted to break into my friend's house, steal the package and get out. I got in. I got the package. I got caught. At this point I entered a life on the lam. With an entire police squadron on my tail, I navigated my way through the streets like a paparazzi trying to chase down a 2007 Britney.
I'd just jumped a quad bike over some cardboard boxes, when I was awoken by a solid *thud*.
Pissed off and confused at this disturbance I sat up. Looking down from atop my hobbit hole, a man, dressed like a handyman, was partway through my window. A black tool bag was on my floor -- the source of the awakening *thud*, I assumed. This is the conversation that pursued:
Me, calmly, with sleep in my eye and bitterness in my heart, 'what the fuck are you doing?'
Him, startled and just as confused as me, 'I-I-I'm here for a paint job!'
'I wasn't told about a paint job?'
'I-I-I'm here for a paint job... for Mr. Patel. I'm here for a paint job for Mr. Patel'
'I don't even know a Mr. Patel', at this point he has picked up his tool bag and backed all the way out of the window. Then I found a flaw in his logic, exasperated, I continued, 'you don't have any paint, also, we have a fucking door?'
'No, I'm here for a paint job for Mr. Patel. I'll go call him now'
He leaves. After about 15 minutes, accepting that what had happened wasn't a dream, I climbed down from my bed and went to see if I could see my eager guest from the window. My thought process was as follows, 'I can't see him on a phone call... there's no van or anything either... oh wait... I don't think he was here for a paint job for Mr. Patel'.
With this realisation I called the police, then Jess and then my sister -- growing more unsure if the events I was describing actually happened with each call. The police came to speak to me about the whole event and gave me some advice about keeping the curtains closed and always having a light on if the window was open. They were very helpful and sympathetic towards the confused man-child before them, who was more upset about being woken up and lied to then anything else.
This was a couple months ago and, following the advice I was given, was an isolated incident. That was until a week or two ago. I'd had my window open one day and, time getting away from me, it was dark before I closed the window or turned a light on.
Out of nowhere, a bright torch light came beaming into my room. It lingering, I turned a light on with the intent to investigate the obvious aliens that had come for me. The torch light immediately turned off and I swiftly heard the sound of someone landing a jump. Racing to the the window, I saw a young guy in a hat powering, head-down, down the dark street.
'Jess! I think someone's just tried to climb through my window again!'
'You're fucking kidding!'