My husband is of absolutely no help. He dreams about work, conferences and deadlines. He wakes up refreshed and cheerful. There are mornings when I just can’t stand him. I, on the other hand, would’ve spent the same hours trying to get out of hell. I feel betrayed in my nightmares I am begging him to wake me up. While he’s in board meetings, I’m in a pit surrounded by creatures that want to eat me and not in any symbolic way. The heavy crucifix I wear does offer me some protection, even in hell, sometimes.
Are my dreams prepping me, I wonder, for my eventual fate? Will I die in my sleep and find that I’m not dreaming anymore. If you’ve read my blog, you’ve seen that I’ve circled this question ad nauseam. The nightmares have gotten worse as I’ve aged. I can’t tell when I’m dreaming in them. Time seems more linear and while I try to direct my dreams (lucid dreaming) – I get my butt kicked. Pity me then. I am Alice falling down the rabbit hole, only my hole has a fiery welcome with grunting, snarling creatures waiting to pull me apart and dine on my meat.
What are my options? Trying to stay awake and turning into a sleep-starved zombie who should never, ever get behind the wheel of a car? Or drugging myself with some over-the-counter product that again will turn me into a walking talking zombie because it takes me forever to get that junk out of my system. And the real question is this…why does this keep happening to me. Despite my nightmares, the thought of sleep is never really terrifying. I long to jump into bed after a hard day just like everybody else.
Thank God I write or I would be coo-coo for cocoa puffs. Ok, this will be the last time I write about my godawful nightmares for a while. Promise.
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