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Entry tags:
dream theater
The prince woke up at 4:30 this morning, which is (a) thankfully no longer normal and (b) the worst possible time, because it's too early to be up for the day but too late to get any good sleep after getting him back down again. So that was fun; I spent 20 minutes nursing him and putting him back to bed and then I went back to bed myself - at which point I had an awful, awful dream.
My children were grown. That is, we had other children, but the prince was the tallest. :-) He was at least 6'6", and I was hugging him around his middle - my head only came up to kind of the bottom of his ribs. (This probably means he was more like 7'6". There was a man in front of me in the line at the coffee shop this morning who was probably seven feet tall and I would guess if I - approaching 5'5" - had stood next to him my head would have come to somewhere on his biceps. Above the elbow but below the armpit.) We were in our house, which was not the house we live in here in real life, but in the dream it was our house, and I could see our reflection in a mirror backsplash behind the sort of breakfast bar area where we were standing. He was wearing a green polo shirt and khakis, and I said "Yes, your mother is short. You need to get over it."
And then he was gone, and Himself and the other kids were gone, and somehow it was clear to me that they had never really existed; my whole family was imaginary.
So I was crying about that, in that frantic way you cry in dreams, where you scream with all your might and no sound comes out, and then Himself came into the room, and I was so relieved, and he didn't know me. I was this crazy woman crying and trying to hug him and he just wanted to get away. So I was crying about that, and another Himself came in, but he didn't have the beard* he's been wearing since the summer after we got married, so I knew it was the wrong Himself, and he didn't know me either - he was there to, like, straighten the place up between tenants, and there was this distraught woman in there, and he was going to try to call someone to come get me.
And I was more and more upset, sobbing "Help me, help me," and I could hear him calling to me, calling me by name, patting me and reassuring me that I was just having a terrible dream and trying to help me wake up, so I opened my eyes - and I was still in the same Not Our House and it was the clean-shaven version of Himself -
- and that seems to be the point where my brain couldn't take it anymore, because that's when I managed to open my real eyes, and I was in my real house and my real husband was there in my real bed. I was still frozen in the paralysis of sleep, but I was able to ask him to help me get my arms moving so I could hug him and tell him about the dream.
I've been up for close to four hours now and I still feel a little queasy about it. The whole morning at home and the whole ride in on the train, I can't stop thinking about it and it's also reminding me of other unsettling (at least) dreams I've had. Like the one where my mother walked out into traffic. Or the one with the perfume sample zombie clones. Or the one where a friend was killed in a bar fight. ... It's going to be a strange kind of day.
*I'm aware of the irony of a horrifying alternate universe being one where someone doesn't have a beard. That's like the only vaguely amusing thing about this.
My children were grown. That is, we had other children, but the prince was the tallest. :-) He was at least 6'6", and I was hugging him around his middle - my head only came up to kind of the bottom of his ribs. (This probably means he was more like 7'6". There was a man in front of me in the line at the coffee shop this morning who was probably seven feet tall and I would guess if I - approaching 5'5" - had stood next to him my head would have come to somewhere on his biceps. Above the elbow but below the armpit.) We were in our house, which was not the house we live in here in real life, but in the dream it was our house, and I could see our reflection in a mirror backsplash behind the sort of breakfast bar area where we were standing. He was wearing a green polo shirt and khakis, and I said "Yes, your mother is short. You need to get over it."
And then he was gone, and Himself and the other kids were gone, and somehow it was clear to me that they had never really existed; my whole family was imaginary.
So I was crying about that, in that frantic way you cry in dreams, where you scream with all your might and no sound comes out, and then Himself came into the room, and I was so relieved, and he didn't know me. I was this crazy woman crying and trying to hug him and he just wanted to get away. So I was crying about that, and another Himself came in, but he didn't have the beard* he's been wearing since the summer after we got married, so I knew it was the wrong Himself, and he didn't know me either - he was there to, like, straighten the place up between tenants, and there was this distraught woman in there, and he was going to try to call someone to come get me.
And I was more and more upset, sobbing "Help me, help me," and I could hear him calling to me, calling me by name, patting me and reassuring me that I was just having a terrible dream and trying to help me wake up, so I opened my eyes - and I was still in the same Not Our House and it was the clean-shaven version of Himself -
- and that seems to be the point where my brain couldn't take it anymore, because that's when I managed to open my real eyes, and I was in my real house and my real husband was there in my real bed. I was still frozen in the paralysis of sleep, but I was able to ask him to help me get my arms moving so I could hug him and tell him about the dream.
I've been up for close to four hours now and I still feel a little queasy about it. The whole morning at home and the whole ride in on the train, I can't stop thinking about it and it's also reminding me of other unsettling (at least) dreams I've had. Like the one where my mother walked out into traffic. Or the one with the perfume sample zombie clones. Or the one where a friend was killed in a bar fight. ... It's going to be a strange kind of day.
*I'm aware of the irony of a horrifying alternate universe being one where someone doesn't have a beard. That's like the only vaguely amusing thing about this.
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