Hello there. I’m the Sandman. Yes, that Sandman, the one responsible for making sure you fall asleep at night and don’t spend eleven hours trying to build a secret blanket fort under your duvet. (By the way, I see what you’re doing under there with the flashlight. Impressive work but sneaky nevertheless.)
People have a lot of weird ideas about me. Some think I throw actual sand in children’s eyes, like I’m some tiny sleep ninja with a grudge against eyeballs. Honestly, who came up with that? If I really went around hurling sand at faces, I’d be banned from every home and playground in the country. Not a great look.
What I actually do is sprinkle a magical dust over you when you’re just starting to drift off. Not sand, but magical dust. It’s light, sparkly, and 87% less itchy. It tickles your brain in just the right way to start the dream machine up. Then, poof! you’re off flying on the back of a spaghetti unicorn through a sky full of marshmallow stars or my personal favourite riding round on a giant leaf into the castle of acorns and dandelions.
I’ve got the best job in the world. But let me tell you, it’s not easy. For one thing, I’m on night shift. Every night. Shows how lucky Father Christmas is, he only has to do one a year! While the Moon is up there shining, I’m zigzagging across the globe like a sleep-deprived delivery driver.
And don’t even get me started on babies. Babies never sleep. I’ll be tiptoeing in to do my thing and bam, they’re staring straight at me like tiny bosses, judging my every move. Once, a baby tried to grab me with both hands and eat me. As you can tell by reading this I escaped, but god was it close.
Also: cats. Why do they always know I’m there? I’ve been sat on, hissed at, and once chased out of a nursery by a kitten named “Sir Meowington the Third.” I still have fur in my slippers.
Now, the dream part is where things get fun. My dream dust doesn’t exactly plan the dream, it’s more like a surprise button. It could send you to a fairy bakery, a jungle made entirely of jelly, or a talent show where everyone is a dancing potato. Sometimes it gets a bit… weird to say the least. I don’t make the dreams; I just deliver them. Think of me as the postman of your imagination.
Every now and then, things go a bit sideways. Like that time I accidentally gave your grandad a dream meant for your dog. He woke up convinced he was chasing squirrels in the park and demanded a chew toy for breakfast. Sorry, buddy that was my bad.
And yes, before you ask: I sleep too. Eventually. Usually around 9:00 AM. I crawl into my hammock made of sleepy sighs and teddy bear fluff and doze off with my hat over my eyes. I dream of quiet places, like libraries made of pillows and beaches where the waves sound like snoring kittens.
Anyway, I’ve got to dash. A kid in Sheffield is tossing and turning and needs a dream. Another in Scotland wants to dream he’s best friends with a lava monster named Carl. (Carl is surprisingly polite, by the way.)
So if you see a flicker of sparkles out of the corner of your eye tonight, don’t worry, it’s just me doing my rounds, like I do every night.
Now snuggle up, close your eyes, and drift off…
See you tonight!! Love from the Sandman
(aka Professional Dream Distributor. Sprinkler of Sleep. Collector of Yawns.)
