Tuesday, October 26, 2010

Nocturnal admissions

Been an odd couple of weeks in the REM cycle. Dreams are funny things. The romantic ones warm your heart, the sex ones leave you invigorated but reluctant to slide slippery from bed. And those about real people in your awake life doing what feels like real things can actually make you angry towards them. Or feel sad. Confused even.

In the last several days I’ve have three dreams about the manfriend. In the first his ex and a gaggle of hens gathered to cackle, sharing loud and unkind chatter about me. And he said nothing. Funny, he doesn’t say a lot anyway. I start conversations, I continue conversations. It’s frustrating at times, he knows that. I’ve told him that using my words.

In the dream I exclaimed, pleaded perhaps, “Stop this…please make them stop. Say something.” Silence. I began to break. “If you don’t say something,” I warned, “I’m leaving and not coming back." Funny, I had a similar conversation just about two years ago, some of the last words spoken to my Mom. She’s not dead.

He said nothing so I left, behind the wheel of a car full of people, dropping them off one by one. All along the way each reminded me of all the awful things I used to believe about myself. That I wasn’t worth the time. That I got what I deserved. That love is only for some. I should have turned the car radio on and up loud to drown out the noise. I didn’t. But I dropped them all off.

I remember waking up in his bed and physically rolling myself as far to the mattress edge as I could, away from him. He noticed and awoke slightly and asked, “What’s wrong?” “I had a bad, bad dream. Your ex and her friends and your friends were awful and you chose them. And you didn’t say anything, you just let me go."

“You know that would never happen, right? It was a dream.” Then he pulled me in tight and snored.

A few days later, also in his bed, I dreamt again of him and me but the details are fuzzy. Then last night he chastised my writing, calling it either addictive or written like someone with an addiction or for an addict. Addiction to what? Truth maybe. Funny, because I’ve been stifling, censoring myself a bit. He has a one way ticket into my thoughts and actions and desires and insecurities. He follows my Facebook and Twitter.

But he never asks about any of it.

Funny thing dreams.

2 comments:

Don said...

Funny indeed. You never know which subconscious and wise or foolish layer they are built on.

Syd said...

Yes, and yes. In the past few months I've had daily anxiety dreams. I should start writing them down...they'd make a great plot for a horror movie.

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