I have dreamed strangely – nightmarishly – lately, most recently this morning (hence today’s blog). But really the one that first struck me as awful was a dream I had the night when Ian, Luke, and Eric watched the Green Mile. Ian and I had some trouble that night, as he wanted to also watch Interstella 555, and I wanted to spend some of the evening with Ian. He ended up staying, and we made up our tiff, but that night I dreamed this. I may have blogged it before, but it’s relevant to my dream from tonight so:
Ian, Luke, and Eric were hanging out just as they were while watching Green Mile. I walked in and found that they were smoking something – I’m not sure if it was pot, cigarettes, or what. I was appalled, for Ian doesn’t smoke and indeed knows that I loathe smoking and all filthy (drug/drinking) habits of that sort. In my dream I demanded he stop, and when he refused I walked up to him and snatched the thing he was smoking out of his hand, running quickly away. Ian gave chase, and I dashed around a corner, hiding. The thing had turned into the fountain pen Ian gave me last year. As Ian came around the corner, I jumped up and stabbed him deep in the chest with the point of the pen. Then I woke up.
Disturbing? Yes, quite. This morning I woke up after dreaming this: that Ian came to the apartment late one night carrying a huge, beautiful vase of flowers. I asked where he got the flowers and he told me, “Oh, I stole it from a museum.” A museum?! Then (to cut a long dream short) I found out that when he was hanging out with his friends (playing “Game”?), he had actually been roaming around, stealing stuff from stores and beating people to death with his hands. I was horrified, and begged him to please stop, but he callously laughed and refused. I was hitting him, crying, terribly upset, when we parted. Then it was 8:16 (I looked at my watch in my dream and thought “Oh no, only 10 minutes to catch the shuttle!”) and I called Ian, asking him something about coming back and talking. He was with three of his cruel friends; when I found him they continued joking even as Ian continued refusing to stop killing people. Again I woke up, quite shaken.
I wonder if they mean anything? It doesn’t seem normal to dream so badly about somebody you love so much… Can the subconscious be just bringing out things I’m worried about (Ian beginning to smoke/do drugs/do other bad things) in those dreams? But I dreamed of stabbing him with a pen – that’s not exactly normal, but was it me still just being upset after having a fight? I don’t know what the deal is; possibly I’m feeling apprehensive about Ian going to London so soon, and wondering what kind of changes will occur in him during that time. *Sigh*
On a brighter note, Mom and Colleen have been playing a lot of Boggle, and this causes them to be saying all sorts of wonderful words such as “tit.” Mom keeps saying “Come on, it’s like a bush tit!” We laugh. “Or a tit mouse!” More laughter. Yeaaahhhh, I’m sure that’s just what everybody thinks of when they see the letters T-I-T in the dice. Additionally, I remain convinced that a dowel is a subset of a stick, while Colleen says that a dowel is a completely different thing and you can’t describe a dowel as a stick. Lots of laughter this break, and laughing is an excellent medicine (remember that when your appendix explodes next week).
– KF –