Wednesday, January 23, 2008

I believe you can get me through the ni-iiiiight.

Last night I dreamt that Silence of the Lambs was true crime, there were seven movies that followed the story, I was in the area of Appalachia where the murders were happening, and I was watching the damn movies. And that wasn't the main storyline of my dream! I won't torture you any more with dream description because I'm pretty sure that's considered boring as all get out to the general populace.

But I will bore you with the history of my dreaming. So there. (Do you like how I entice you to read further?) I had an assload of bad dreams as a kid. Although perhaps not any more than any other kid. Can't say. But pretty early on I was having none of it. (Hah! I say that like I was all powerful. As if I didn't sleep with my blankets up to my chin - regardless the temperature - because of the vampire dream. Or had to have the shutters on my window securely closed ["shut the shutters, shut the shutters," I'd remind my dad] every night because of the dream about the Sleestak-like creature outside said window. And had to have all my hair covering my face before I could sleep because of monsters in general [if they couldn't see me . . .]. And of course I had to sleep with my legs hanging off the side of the bed because once I'd kicked the wall on the other side, angering the pale, rubbery-skinned witch under my bed who would reach her pale, rubbery-skinned arm up along the wall and GRAB my ankles. [Don't know why she couldn't just GRAB 'em from the other side. Thank god there were rules! This particular grabbing hand (they grab all they can, all for themselves, after all) I blame on F. Marion Crawford's "The Upper Berth".] Oh how I envied my sister Megan, lying there across the room, bedclothes at her feet, arms splayed, sleepin' free, man, sleepin' free. Why couldn't I sleep like that? Again [shall we say it together this time? In a singsong manner?] ZOLOFT!)

Where the hell was I? Oh yes, having none of it. I learned what I guess was lucid dreaming. I learned certain cues in my dreams. For example, is my dream sepia-toned? GET OUT GET OUT! That was a dead-sure sign that everything was gonna get bad, and soon. And I don't know why, but I could "get out." One dream - in which the role of Jo will be played this evening by Marsha Brady - I thought to actually pinch myself. I didn't feel the pinch and was like, see ya, I'm outta here. I also learned that I can breathe under water in my dreams! Still can. Super handy. You fall in the ocean? Hey, wait, can't I breathe under water in my dreams?! Sure the hell can! It's always a dash disturbing at first, but then I get used to it. It's messed with my real-life snorkeling, though.

I also figured out that I tended to dream about things that had been only fleeting instances in my waking life before I dreamt it. So if, just before going to bed every night, I thought about every possibly scary thing I'd encountered that day, I was pretty sure I wouldn't dream about it. And I generally didn't. But it also meant I didn't dream about things I wanted to dream about because I couldn't think about them in only a fleeting manner. Like boys.

Feh, it was enough just to stop the often devastating dreams. And I usually still can. Gee, now I'm all hepped up to tell you about my recurring dreams! And even better . . . Sleep Paralysis! All right, all right, I'll go make some eggs instead. For now! Moo ha ha ha ha ha!

Sleep well,


1 comment:

joanna said...

Wanna hear my fucked-up recurring nightmare that I had when I was in pre-school? Well, the only part of it that I remember well enough to recount is this:
You know that number-painting guy who would occasionally show up on Sesame Street - played by the actor who was Mr. Bentley (the British neighbor) on The Jeffersons? He also played (Not) Guffman in Waiting For Guffman. Anyway, on Sesame Street, he was this creepy dude who wore a long white painter's smock and hat, and cruised around painting the number of the day on everything in sight: doors, walls, heads of bald men, etc.

In my dream, he was chasing me around a swimming pool, attempting to paint the number "5" on me. It freaked my shit OUT.

Check it: