2AM. Saturday morning.
I have only a few hours until I have to get up for work, but I’m wide awake. And sleep isn’t going to come easily.
Why aren’t I asleep?
Because I’ve just had a nightmare.
Yes, like a little kid, a bad dream has jolted me awake and now I’m lying in the dark, every noise transformed into something ominous by fear.
The dream started off well enough, with me as a cowboy. There was a shoot out between James Stewart and Audie Murphy, which left both dead. And then undead Audie got to his feet. Yes, Walking Dead style, it didn’t take a bite, but I blame George A. Romero as I’d been thinking about his movies a lot in the last week and eager to watch Dawn of the Dead again. Perhaps this was my subconscious’ tribute to the director?
I managed to cuff Jimmy before he revived, but Audie bit another person. Having dropped the most decorated zombie in Hollywood, I saw the other zombie pursuing my cat, Midnight. Out of bullets (isn’t that always the way?), I hastily ran and shoved the zombie into a side room and grabbed Midnight.
Unfortunately the living dead opened the door and seized me from behind. It went to bite my neck.
At this point I awoke, but still gripped by the fading terror of the nightmare, I actually awoke in the process of throwing my elbow in defence.
Luckily the biter had come from the right and I was elbowing thin air. On the left and I would have clocked MWF in the face and probably sporting a shiner. And I suspect that her coworkers would have heard “my boyfriend elbowed me in the face while asleep because of a nightmare” and assumed it was a flimsy excuse, a slightly more inventive version of “I walked into a door”.
Luckily, Pumpkin, who in the dream was sensible enough to avoid the walkers, jumped into the bed and huddled in by my arm. Stroking him calmed me down and eventually I fell back asleep. And this time, without any nightmares.
Thank the gods for cats.
Any thoughts? You know what to do. BETEO.
When I was a GCSE student they used to tell us not to end the creative writing part of our exams with the hackneyed “it was all a dream” ending. Which I totally understood, its lazy, derivative and probably incredibly frustrating for the poor schmuck who’s job it is to read hundreds of 16 year olds’ stories.
But the thing is, as much of a cop out as it is, sometimes I find myself waking up and actually thinking those words. Its happened twice in the last month or so, where I’ve had dreams which have, at the time at least, seemed so realistic that I’ve awoken still gripped by the emotions from the dream, and that phrase has been a blessing.
A few weeks ago I dreamed that some psychopathic nutjob gunned down my little sister, even freakier was the fact that the way it happened in the dream was frighteningly real. I wasn’t there for the event, I got called by my Mum who had to tell me what had happened. It was a horrible dream and I woke up extremely upset, almost in tears and panicky, but thankfully my rational side managed to anchor me within a few seconds and I calmed down, even if that horrible upset did linger in the back of my mind and part of me wanted to call my sister to check in on her.
And then last night I had a dream where I did something monumentally stupid, something which would tear my entire life apart, and something that I would never, ever do in real life. But in the dream I did it. Even in the dream I knew it was a mistake, and was trying to figure out a way to fix it, so my first thought on waking this morning was “You stupid bastard!” and then it clicked, it was a dream.
Intense, magical relief swept over me.
I hadn’t done the idiotic thing, and so my life wasn’t about to fall apart. The crazy thing is, it was a little detail which made me realize it was a dream- somebody’s hair colour was different and that was it. Yes, the hair colour tipped me off, but as I lay here I remembered that the dream had also involved me working as a kind of CIA-type agent and had opened a can of Jason Bourne-style whupass on someone.
A lot of people have theories about dreams- past life experiences, symbolic representations of what you’re worried about, even an insight into the future. Personally I think that’s all bollocks.
I kind of think your dreams is like someone’s got a bingo machine filled with all your memories, fears, desires, obsessions and worries, mixed with all the films, TV shows and books that you’ve seen in your life. And as you sleep all of them bounce around and you occasionally catch glimpses of some of them, but its mainly just a big, random mix. That explains how weird, bizzarre and warped they can be.
Why we dream? I’ve no idea, other than because our id likes to mess with us.
Any thoughts? You know what to do. BETEO.
This is one of those posts that as I sit down to write it I think to myself, “My mum reads this.” I then debate whether or not to press on with what I’m about to write. Well, I can’t think of anything else thats occupied my thoughts today, so I’m going to have to write this one. Sorry, mum.
I had a sex dream last night.
I have these from time to time, and for the most part they largely serve to aid my subconscious’ continuing campaign to mess with me.
Its never Rihanna, Lady Gaga or Nigella Lawson who feature in my dreams, or if they do, my subconscious decides to inject some realism by having the encounter be incredibly embarrassing or my advances being rebuffed.
Anyway, this time my dream lover was a work colleague. Now, the lady in question is lovely, and I get on well with her, but I wouldn’t say I fancy her, I’m not repulsed by her either. In my league table of coworkers ranking them by order of how much I’d like to sleep with them, she’s somewhere in the middle. Like a Fulham of attractiveness.
That might sound horribly chauvinistic, but I have been single for a long time, my job is immensely boring and I’m a compulsive list maker. I also have a list of coworkers in the order of who I’d Stone Cold Stunner first.
The problem is I woke up feeling awkward and guilty about the fact I’d dreamt about her. While at uni I had several dreams about a female friend, who I did, briefly have a mini-crush on, but remember feeling the same then. The next time I’d see her I’d feel really bad, and I’m not looking forward to my next shift with this lady.
I know, of course, I have nothing to feel bad about. It was merely a dream, and didn’t really happen. And the dream wasn’t dodgy or perverse in any way, just regular sex.
I am not in control of my dreams, sadly, as I’m sure I could have salvaged the Nigella situation and made that sleepy story far more satisfying.
My dastardly id knows how to cause me doubt and guilt, and once again has played a blinder. Damn you, id!
Any thoughts? You know what to do. BETEO
I woke up this morning and was going to write about things that annoy me, but the following aren’t really annoying things they’re just minor problems. So I’ve decided to do 99 problems, so here are the first 5 which I wrote this morning.
1. My Subconscious Hates Me Part 1
My subconscious really dislikes me and delights in messing with me. It’ll make awful songs I haven’t heard in years pop into my head and lodge there for ages. While walking at night it’ll flash thoughts of zombies or other horror movie images.
But its dreams where it really gets to play with me.
Freaky images that stick with me, messed up events and plots which creep me out long after I’ve woken up.
I’ll argue with people or someone will screw me over and the resentment will loiter after the dream. I once dreamt that I got locked outside with zombies because the two friends I’d left watching the door had gone off to chat up some girls. I was really pissed off when I next saw them, before my ego reasoned that it was just my id screwing with me and they’d never actually done anything wrong.
But last night it surpassed itself in douchery.
I dreamt I was at some party where I met this great girl- seet, smart, the whole nine, she wasn’t my usual type being slim and blonde, but I really dug her.
So in my waking haze I thought to myself:
“I wonder if anyone’s got a number for her”
And then WHAM!
She wasn’t real. I lay there feeling quite gutted about this.
2. No Pancakes
Today is Shrove Tuesday aka Pancake Day aka Mardi Gras.
Its the traditional last day of indulgence before Lent, and having been raised Christian and wanting to lose weight I’m following Lent this year and giving up all sweets and chocolate, as well as desserts.
Anyway, here in the UK, we go for pancakes and I really have a hankering for some, but I can’t make them. My attempts in the past have been disastrous.
I wish I could whip up a batch.
Sod that, if I’m wishing for stuff I may as well go all out, I wish I’d woken up to be served pancakes in bed by a naked Nigella Lawson.
Only to be joined by Lorraine Pascale who’s taking on Lawson in some kind of nude cake-off.
Sorry, drfted off there for a moment.
Anyway, I’m planning to wander down the shop and buy some sweets and maybe a cake for gluttony’s last stand.
I’ve had potential new housemates viewing the house this week and in preparation we (and by “we” I mean my housemates mainly) have tidied up.
Annoyingly, one of my housemates decided to tackle the gallimaufry of toothbrushes in our bathroom. It seems that while housemates here come and go, their toothbrushes remain.
In throwing out a heap of toothbrushes they tossed mine out. Which sucks balls as this is the second time this has happened since I moved here in November. I was forced to brush my teeth with my finger the other day, its just not the same.
4. Tweet Bird of Youth
I love Twitter. At first I didn’t see the point but I’m now a total addict.
But recently I’ve noticed it seems to be sliding away from me. Its full of kids, I don’t follow them but looking at the trending topics I’m starting to feel horribly old and out of touch.
Justin Bieber, One Direction, Harry Potter- these are the obsessions of a different generation, further highlighting the gulf between me and the tweeting masses was the fact during/after the Grammy’s the following trended:
“Who is Paul McCartney?”
5. My Subconscious Hates Me Part 2
Remember how I said my id likes lodging annoying songs in my head? Well it reached a new level of annoyance by deciding what I needed was an incredibly annoying song from an advert looping in my brain.
But not just any annoying song, a song that is deeply, deeply creepy and dodgy sounding. Its a French voice (or faux-French) singing the extremely sleazy sounding:
“Thank heaven for little girls”
I can’t sing that aloud! And that’s what happens with earwigs, they may start lodged in your head, but sooner or later they’ll leak out through your lips. And its going to get me in serious bother if I start voicing admiration for young girls.
Go on YouTube and search for the song, apparently its from some musical and in a way its even dodgier in context.
Any thoughts? You know what to do. LLAP