I’m back! With another daily dose of insanity.
I spent my entire last post discussing the meaningful dreams of my mother and my husband. Now, it’s my turn.
Today is the day you learn that my dreams are anything but meaningful. At best, my dreams are total bizarre-ness (yes, another made up word. Don’t hate me.) But at least they’re there. The BFF swears she either doesn’t have dreams or doesn’t remember them. Which is so sad. I mean, really the comedy my mind can stir up while I am sleeping….
But my most memorable dream of all time actually falls under the category of a nightmare, and I think it was the result of one too many John Wayne movies, thanks to my dad and sister (who, yes, was oddly obsessed with at least one John Wayne movie back in the day).
Our house sat in front of a large field, and in this dream of mine, I remember being in my bedroom and looking out into the back yard to see several Native Americans (to be PC) in full warpath garb, sneaking around. Next thing you know, mom asked my sister to go out to the car to retrieve napkins. And I lost it. Screaming about how unsafe it was for her. But of course she went anyway. And wound up tied to a totem pole, with napkins piled around her for kindling.
Yes, random. I know. What’s worse is that I didn’t sleep through the night for weeks after that dream. Eventually we had to switch bedrooms with my parents so I wouldn’t have to look out in that field and imagine things.
I don’t have amazing encounters in my dreams. I dream about things that we haven’t had to worry about for the last 100 years or so. Or things that aren’t real. Or having to pee.
What does that say about MY subconscious?