I had the most epic anxiety dream last night. Loony blames the thick comforter on the guest bed. In fact, he blames sleeping in an overheated bed for just about everything, especially strange dreams.
The one on our bed, that my MIL is sleeping in, is a summer weight, so thin that you can see light through it. It barely qualifies as two sheets sewn together.
I supplement with a small fleece throw blanket that just covers me. Loony runs very hot.
Nikki once said that the secret to marital bliss is a king-sized bed with two twin-sized comforters. I think she’s right.
Another contributor is the metal rocking chair on the third floor deck above us. The wind was beating it rhythmically into the metal railing.
The howling wind, the banging, the sweaty boobs … it’s all so, atmospheric, and it gave me an epic anxiety dream. Where do I even start?
I was driving around when I realized that my car was going sideways on the road (not possible, I realize) then I was driving backwards in heavy traffic. I came to a light and was able to get back in the right direction.
I was drawn to a house, there were lots of people living in it. It was nothing more than a student crash-pad. Each room was sparsely furnished with mattresses on the floor, random dressers, those cheap “tapestries” that are ever present in dorm rooms; but somehow I was very drawn to this place. I kept coming back to it throughout my dream.
First I knew someone there who said it was okay for me to hang out. He had beads and I made jewelry in his room. But then he moved out and I found myself tiptoeing through a house with all new tenants.
There was a woman who looks much like someone I just befriended in real life. She said it was cool to be there.
There was the usual commotion of people moving in, and the strange looks they gave me as I walked through their rooms to get to hers.
I told her about my experience on the road. I said, “I don’t think I’m safe to drive.” I was very loopy but not drunk. I realized I had a wedding to attend at 5pm and the hour was fast approaching.
“I don’t want to go home,” I said.
“It’s your marriage, isn’t it? You are unhappy,” she replied.
“No, it’s not that, I just don’t want to be there, I want to be here. But I need to go. I have to pick the kids up and go to a wedding. Where is my bag?”
I had my bag in my hands and then suddenly it was gone. I looked everywhere for it. I thought I found it and raced out of the house, but once I reached in, I pulled out a wallet that wasn’t mine, it was hers.
I went back inside and returned her bag and somehow found mine. I went back outside but now I couldn’t find my car. I thought I found it but it was someone else’s and it was missing a wheel.
I had to ask her for a ride. She drove me in a convertible and picked up people along the way. The going was unbelievably slow.
All the people were telling me what was wrong with me, what my problem really was. I could tell they meant to be helpful so I wasn’t hurt. But they weren’t right.
We got to my house and I told the kids they needed to shower. I went in with them to help them wash their hair but the water came out in a frustratingly small trickle. The water was either too hot or too cold.
I was getting panicky and angry at the situation.
Then I realized that the boys were taller than me. When did that happen? Of course there were other people in the bathroom with me, commenting on everything. I needed a shower, too but it was now 5:15. I was already late and now the boys were fully clothed and getting wet.
People kept filing into the bathroom with their kids, moms I recognized from my sons’ school. They said they were going to the wedding, too, but it wasn’t until 7.
I had plenty of time, but I didn’t believe them, I was sure it was at 5pm.
Then the water started running properly once everyone except Cristina left the bathroom. I didn’t mind having her there. She is a very gentle and kind person in real life.
I came out of the bathroom and people were still everywhere. I said, “There is something wrong with me. Can’t you tell? I’m not myself. Why can’t anyone see it?” Then I woke up.
This dream was no joke, right? Christmas dinner was last night. It was only to be us and my MIL but a long-lost friend showed up and our neighbors joined at the last minute. It was a wonderful evening full of interesting conversation.
Our friend has had such a challenging life and he opened up about his struggles that I, now a mother, can appreciate and relate to in ways that I wasn’t able to at the time these things were happening.
It was emotional and moving that he was with us and sharing his experience after all these years of near silence.
My neighbors are true global citizens, having done medical relief work in Haiti, lived in Kenya, recently returned from South Africa.
Conversation quickly became about things outside of us: what is happening in Russia, what our responsibilities as consumers are. It was fascinating and why I love having friends who have varied interest.
I think all of it contributed to this dream.
But I want to illuminate one thing: the house.
It’s our house. I started dreaming about it when I was married to my first husband. I loved our house but I always dreamt about Loony’s. It changes in each dream. Sometimes it is a shell of a house with exposed beams and holes in the ceiling. Sometimes it is a meandering mansion.
Once, just after Loony and I became a bonafide couple, it was newly painted and suddenly very easy to get to (downhill, both ways) and he showed me a room that I deemed perfect for a nursery.
In every iteration, I want to be there. I want to be there with all my heart. Dreams are fascinating.