Swimming With Beasts

A few nights ago I had a dream in which Studly Doright and I had taken our kids and grandkids on a trip to an indoor pool. The pool was huge, larger even than Olympic sized, but that wasn’t the oddest thing about it. As we walked around we realized that large animals were swimming with people in the pool.

There were lions and sharks, alligators and tigers swimming menacingly, seeming to stalk the humans who’d risked their necks to join in the activity. I was appalled, but everyone else in our family group began to jump in. My youngest granddaughter and her dad raced a cheetah to the side of the pool, narrowly missing becoming a snack for the feline.

I was pacing up and down urging everyone to get out of the pool before it was too late, but they all just pooh-poohed my concerns. A shrill blast from the lifeguard’s whistle signaled that it was time for a change in animals, so all of the humans were herded into cages while the pool was cleaned and the new animals emerged.

This time there were elephants and polar bears, llamas and giraffes in the pool. I found myself tempted to enter the water figuring it might be my only chance to swim with an elephant. Just before I took the plunge Studly Doright awakened me to lean over and kiss me goodbye before heading off to work.

“Whoa!” I mumbled. “I thought you were a polar bear.”

He didn’t bat an eye, responding, “That’s because I’m so chill.”

Peace, people.

TV Marathon Dystopia

A couple of days ago I wrote about being addicted to sappy, family-friendly Hallmark Channel movies. On Saturday, though, I realized there was a Walking Dead marathon on AMC in preparation for the mid-season finale scheduled for Sunday night. So without hesitation I changed channels, and now my brain is having a heyday as evidenced by last night’s dream:

A beautiful young television reporter is caught on a live mic saying she hates Christmas–immediately following a segment on ways to spread holiday cheer. Her public reacts negatively, and in order to boost the show’s ratings the station manager sends her and her handsome producer to North Dakota where they’ll shoot a week of programs from a little town that bills itself, “The Christmas Capital of the U.S.”

Unfortunately, the duo arrives in North Dakota to find that the zombie apocalypse is in full swing. No one in the rest of the country knew about it because, well, it was North Dakota after all. Undaunted, although a bit confused, the couple gamely make their way to “The Christmas Capital of the U.S.” where they take refuge in an old hotel with a handful of other survivors. 

They film their segments about Christmas while gamely shooting zombies and subsisting on canned foods they’ve scavenged from abandoned homes. The beautiful young reporter learns to love Christmas and falls in love with her handsome producer. Unfortunately, they’re both attacked by zombies and become walking dead themselves. 

Now that’s a dream one could sink their teeth into. Am I right? 

Parade of Celebrities 

My dreams have been chock full of celebrities lately. I suppose their nocturnal performances are subtle attempts by my psyche to heal itself during this soul-scarring election.

Last week Chris Hemsworth, in the guise of Thor, snuggled with me in dreamland: https://nananoyz5forme.com/2016/10/30/a-thor-in-my-side/


Since then, I’ve danced with James Franco at an Italian wedding. He approached me as I stood off to one side, gallantly bowing and asking me if I’d care to dance, and then twirled me about the marble dance floor as I giggled helplessly. 


The next night Michelle Obama appeared during a dream visit to the Lincoln Memorial and gave me a hug that filled me with happiness and peace. She wiped away my tears and told me we’d all be fine as Abraham Lincoln looked on.


Last night, Brad Pitt flirted with me at Central Perk while Jennifer Aniston served us coffee. We sat on a couch holding hands, discussing everything except Angelina and Donald Trump. I think we are going to build homes together in New Orleans one day soon.


I’m pretty proud of my subconscious during these days of angst. I should send it to a spa as a thank you. I might even tag along.

Peace, and sweet dreams, people.

A Thor in My Side

I’ve developed a new pattern of sleeping. Studly Doright and I get into bed around 8:30 (don’t judge; we’re old) and he watches tv while I read for a few minutes. We kiss good night, I say my prayers, and then bam, I’m sound asleep. 

Around 2 a.m. I wake up with some weird worry on my mind: Did one of the cats just puke beside my side of the bed? Am I going to put my foot in puke if I get up to use the restroom? Do I even need to use the restroom? What if there’s a snake in the toilet? Seriously, these are my 2 a.m. concerns.

The great thing is that once I determine if I need to use the restroom, and the answer is always a resounding “YES!” I return to bed and fall immediately back to sleep where lately I’ve had the most vivid dreams. 

Last night Thor, (played by Chris Hemsworth) was trying to seduce me. He kept showing up in my house, in my shower, and against my feeble protests, in my bed. I tried to tell him I was a married woman and old enough to be his mum, but he promised he just wanted to snuggle. 

“Well, in that case,”I thought, “What’s the harm?”

And we were snuggling so sweetly, so innocently, until we heard Studly Doright open the front door. In one smooth move, Thor rolled off the bed and underneath it before my husband reached the master bedroom door. The sound of Thor rolling off the bed awakened me, and I patted Studly on the arm.

“Did you hear that?” I asked.

“Huh? What?” he mumbled.

“Oh, nothing,” I giggled. “I just thought I heard thunder.” 

After Studly left to play golf early this morning I couldn’t resist the urge to peek under the bed. No Thor. I did find a bedroom slipper I thought I’d left in Clearwater Beach, though.


Peace, and sweet dreams, people.

Written in Meat Loaf

I’ve gradually been reducing my dosage of the anti-depressant, Effexor over the past year and just last week stopped taking it altogether. There have been a few shaky, brain shivery moments, and a couple of emotional outbursts, but knock on wood, I’m finally done with this mind controlling drug.

Vivid and unusually scripted dreams have accompanied every step down in dosage. Several nights ago I dreamt that I was in my hometown of Floydada, Texas, for a reunion of sorts. There were a good many people present with whom I’d attended school, as well as several family members. All of whom are now deceased. 

Maybe that should have creeped me out, but I found their collective presence comforting. They all appeared to be having a good time.

At some point a former physical education teacher approached me, and we visited for some time. I hadn’t particularly cared for her, nor did she like me much back in my junior high school days. Our dream conversation was convivial, though, until she took umbrage at something I said and assigned me the task of writing an essay. 

“No problem,” I smirked, “I write essays in my sleep.”

So I composed a quick essay on the prescribed topic of the Joys of Exercise and submitted it to her. She refused to accept it, saying she’d clearly demanded it be written in meat loaf, and that I wasn’t free to return home until I’d accomplished that feat.

Painstakingly I etched the attention-getting introduction and overarching thesis statement into an unbaked meatloaf, followed by three supporting paragraphs, and a resoundingly strong conclusion. Then the meatloaf was cooked to perfection.

My words disappeared in the cooking process, but Ms. P. E. Teacher was satisfied and I was allowed to leave.

Now, my amateur dream interpretation skills have led me to conclude that my subconscious was dwelling on the temporary nature of all things. Or maybe I was just in Effexor withdrawal. You be the judge.

Peace, people, but wait, there’s more!

There’s meat loaf, and then there’s Meat Loaf.

http://youtu.be/rezC6AvMgvc
 

His Songs

he plays a little club on tuesday nights, a seedy little place off main

the voice, still strong after all this time; yet he never did sell his name.

his songs, sad and sweet, sift through my soul transcending time and tomb

my lonely heart answers the way it knows best; i feel i must call home.

invoking the loss of my family, of my false securities

his songs call out my every conceit and bring me to my knees.

home will you take me back? i’m so damned tired of this road

i thought, oh i thought i could make it, until i heard his songs.

Dream Weaver

Last night I dreamt that I rescued two dogs from an abusive situation. One was a large, light brown mutt who was severely malnourished. The other was a cute little chihuahua who seemed bouncy and healthy.

I took them home and then multiple crises arose: my kids needed help, my job was nuts, there were aliens landing on the front lawn, etc. I forgot about the large dog and found him dead in the backyard. I cried and cried because I knew I was solely responsible for his death.

The little dog was still okay, though. Apparently I’d fed him, and he was still sweet and cute. But having killed the large dog I couldn’t give my heart to the small one. It felt like a huge betrayal, so I gave it away to a family who seemed like they’d cherish it.

I think I know what this dream was trying to tell me. I’m going to change my priorities starting now. 

Thanks for letting me share this. 

Take care, and peace, people.

Star Spangled Dream

One night during my illness–stuffy head, equilibrium-hampering, sinus infection–I dreamt that I was attending either a concert or a movie in an outdoor arena. Just before the event began a giant screen flashed the words:

Please Stand For Our National Anthem

I immediately stood, and began urging those around me to stand, as well. Grudgingly they did. The strains of The Star Spangled Banner began and then abruptly stopped. 

Sorry, technical difficulties!

Flashed across the screen. Then a voice from a loudspeaker boomed, “Will anyone lead in the singing of our national anthem?”

With no hesitation I began, 

Oh, say can you see…

and to my delight people joined in and we all sang the entire song on key. It was a gloriously impossible rendition of our national anthem, especially considering that I knew immediately that I’d begun the song an octave too high. Dreams are wonderfully forgiving.

Once the song ended and we were congratulating one another on our performance a woman in the next section came to me and offered me a role in a traveling Disney performance. I agreed immediately, but then looked over at Studly who was clearly upset by the thought of me leaving, and subsequently declined the offer. 

When I awakened I realized my throat was scratchy. That’s what happens when one sings The Star Spangled Banner an octave too high. 

Peace, people!