Night Switch

I'd like to attach one of these to my head. Anyone else think this whole dream thing is like an unwanted  home invasion?  Isn't waking life enough to deal with already...?  Every once in a while there is a respite from the relentless and all-too-vivid re-imaginings that pummel the helpless-at-rest, an odd bit of frolic and bliss,  but it's about as rare as a cake at the dentist's.  Per usual, some horrible mash-up of past memory pain shows up uninvited; a combined humiliation of reality and worse-case-scenario that lingers into the morning, or even past lunch and into the next evening. I have to knock it back with strong coffee followed by determined thoughts of present consciousness and sometimes even pizza and beer for lunch.
I remember a time when this wasn't the case.  At some point between puberty and my late teens, I recall slumber rich with wonder and lolling, stretching into the late morning on weekends like warm baked bread in my bed.  It was what I imagined an opiate bliss might feel like, and sometimes, if the planets are aligned and hell is averted, I still get that happy floating nothingness for a moment or two, but it is a fleeting thing.
What happened between then and now? Have I amassed such a database of awkward personal moments, unwanted tragic news stories, scenes of torture and heartbreak, accrued knowledge of the cruel nature of things, that it just overflows as I lay cuddled up under comfy covers, like a backed up toxic drainpipe into a clear mountain stream? Is my imagination overactive, underused while awake, acting out like a child prodigy denied a piano on which to pound?  I fear it's all of those things combined with bad luck and an uncooperative pillow.  I'm pretty lucky during the day, so perhaps this is just the balance of nature keeping it real. I will just suck it up and hope for happiness. Goodnight and sweet fucking dreams!