I Got Dreams to Remember

Dreams...The Stuff Nightmares are Made Of

 

Since I can recall, I've always had trouble sleeping.  Maybe not sleeping, so much, as what occurs WHEN I sleep.  I'm speaking about those intangible images that dance behind your eyes when you've entered the REM stage of sleep.  Some people call them dreams, I call them the Evil Doers of Slumber.  The term hasn't quite caught on yet, but give it time.  Give it time.

Now, there's few things more tedious than listening to someone tell you their dreams in great detail.  It's equivalent to watching a wedding video for the 20th time, or seeing every picture ever taken of someone's glorious vacation.  Personally, I enjoy hearing other people's dreams (on occasion), because it provides me a glimpse into what normal nighttime behavior is for many.  While many dreams are wacky and so personal to the dreamer themselves, that an outsider can't begin to unravel what all of the symbolism means, I find it refreshing to hear that someone had a dream about -say - skydiving and their parachute not opening, or a masked intruder in the house that cannot be located.  These types of dreams are dreams in my world.  These are pleasant and happy little bunnies sliding down rainbows into buckets of marshmallows. 

 

 

Sleeping has always been an interesting concept for me.  When I was a little girl, I used to sleep walk somewhat frequently.  Imagine my poor Mother waking up, feeling eyes upon her at 2:00am, to find her very blond daughter standing at the foot of her bed - the kitchen nightlight illuminating her from behind so she appeared as if a specter - just STARING at her.  She'd very gingerly ask if I was OK, and I would respond Yes.  She'd ask if I needed anything, and I'd say No.  She suggested that maybe I should go back to bed, and I would say OK, and head back upstairs.  No ill will, no malevolence.  Very peaceful, very accommodating.  And very much scaring the shit out of my poor Mom.

 

As a child, I seemed to definitely target my Mom, but my brother also received my nighttime visits on occasion.  He quickly got wise though**.   My childhood bedroom also held the entrance-way to a long-narrow attic.  This attic scared the creeping BeJeezus out of me.  One night, while taking a stroll as a sleepwalker, I opened the attic door and tripped down the two small steps at the entrance way.  Well.  This woke me up right quick.  It took me time to realize where I even was, but when I DID, I started screaming for my brother, whose room was across the hall from mine.  Screaming bloody murder, is more like it.  Do you think he came to help his little sister?  Hell no.  To this day, I KNOW he heard me, 'cause he gets that little "glimmer" in his eye when I retell the story.   The Rat Bastard.

•  ** After my apparition appeared a few times to him in the middle of the night, he just closed the door and kept on sleeping.  Apparently doors were portals my sleepwalking self could noth pass through.  Except the attic door, it seems.  In fairness, my brother has been known to sleep through anything and everything.  But I still know he heard.  The Rat Bastard. 

Back then, I was having dreams that seemed - shall we say - abnormal for a young child.  Dreams of mummies luring us in and then decapitating my family, and visions of riding Ferris Wheels' that were more like a game of Russian Roulette. (In this particular dream - you had to ride the Ferris Wheel until everyone else had died.  The trick was, when the carriages reached the ground, you were underwater.  And that's when the  Ferris Wheel stopped to let people on and unload the dead.  Who ever could hold their breath for the longest - won.)

 

 

Getting older hasn't quieted down my nighttime visions much.  Before I moved in 2010, actually before I even knew I WOULD be moving, I had a dream that moving vans were trying to find my apartment.  They called, I gave directions, but they kept seeming to go in circles.  I told them I'd wait outside for them in order to flag them down.  Normal enough dream for anybody.  Except for the fact that the next day I woke up, I found wet sneakers in my entrance way and my front door unlocked.  It appears as if I had actually gone out in the rain to flag down the "movers".  After that occurred, I no longer wondered why my neighbors avoided me or gave me an usual glare when I'd pass.  If this is an event that I can remember, what did I do that I can't recall?!  Not that I care. They were a bunch of weirdoes anyway.  Sleepwalking and waiting for imaginary movers was the most normal thing that ever occurred at that complex.  Trust me.

In a way, I can say that I am lucky.  I remember a lot of my dreams and they spark a creative imagination.  Like Otis Redding so beautifully sang, "I Got Dreams to Remember".   In another way, I would kind of like to be comatose for a good 6-8 hours without fear that the Evil Doers of Slumber are on their way.

 

One thing is for sure, Disney will never be calling me to come up with a special slogan for one of their many campaigns.  I don't think "Dreams...The Stuff Nightmares are Made Of" will be a huge hit with the under 6 crowd.

 

 

With Love
Lady Butterfly
xoxo