I usually dream in color, but occasionally I dream in sepia tone. I never dream in black and white. I dream every night, and I always remember my dreams upon waking. Sometimes, they are so vivid that I wake up mad at Big Daddy or almost hyperventilating because of crying.
No matter the dream, though.... they're always crazy. Every morning for years, I've told my hubby about my dreams the night before, and for years he has shaken his head and looked at me like I need to be in a loony bin. He's the one who doesn't dream, though, and *they say* (whoever they are) that if you don't dream, you'll go crazy. I read somewhere that Vincent Van Gogh didn't dream, and we all know how that turned out for his ear. So maybe Big Daddy's the crazy one in this relationship.
Just saying.
Don't be jealous.
Now, to celebrate my winning this symbol of my superior vocal gymnastics, Reba and I went to her home nightclub complete with pink, flashing lights and hanging silver ball, and she and I did a duet. I'm sad to say, I sang way better than her. I think she may have been having an off-night, but she was very gracious about it. When I told her how amazing this all was to me, because everyone hates my singing and they will never believe that I bested her entire Reba McEntire family, she said that I was the best singer she had ever heard. She held me as I cried and explained to her how my sister, junior high choir teacher, and my friend's grandmother used to make fun of my singing all the time. She said we just wouldn't invite them to her BBQ picnic next weekend at her house. So there. I'm eating ribs with Reba and my sister, Carrie, isn't.
I woke up so excited, grinning ear to ear, and then realized I don't know Reba. I don't know if she has family Olympics. And I sure as HECK cannot sing.
Talk about crushing. A little piece of my heart died that morning.
A few days later I had another crazy dream.
I was in Brazil and that gigantic Jesus statue there came to life and started walking around. And it wasn't just a statue of Jesus, but really Jesus. He was just a gazillion feet tall and a big, white statue. No one else realized it was really Him; they just thought the statue came to life with some other random spirit. Since I knew it was really Jesus , I kept trying to sneak a peek at his real/statue face, because then I would be the only living person on earth who had seen Jesus's face. Every time I looked up, there were clouds obscuring it, though. I was getting more and more disturbed by this, until I really listened to Him speak and realized Dream Rio de Janiero Jesus's voice sounded exactly like the Jolly Green Giant in those old commercials. While I was thinking of the Jolly Green Giant, twelve matadors came running up to Him. He told them to go to Spain and reveal that the Jesus statue in Rio de Janiero had come to life and He dwelt among us now. Now in my dream, I began to think....twelve matadors....twelve disciples...... the Jesus statue was like the Jolly Green Giant, and he had a friend named Sprout.....that meant that Sprout was showing up soon and who was going to be Sprout....because God should be the Jolly Green Giant since He's the Big Guy, and Dream Rio de Janiero Jesus should be Sprout, since He's the Son...but God and Jesus are the same, so they're both the Jolly Green Giant, so maybe the Holy Ghost would be Sprout, then, and what would that look like....And then I woke up with a headache. Can't understand why.
Another crazy dream I have is a recurring dream that happens about once a month. It always freaks me out.
It's exactly the same and has never changed. It's in sepia tone and slow motion. There is a music box that plays the soundtrack to this dream. It's a song I don't recognize, but the little tinkle-tinkle is very horror movie-ish. I'm riding my bike with a couple of friends back in the town where I grew up. We come upon this road that I've never seen before. We ride down it, all together, and go around this heavily wooded corner. It takes us to this little perfect, Stepford kind of tucked away neighborhood. There are hills in the distance which are completely unseen and makes no difference from the flat, farm land entrance. As we turn into the neighborhood my friends fade away, until it's just me riding my bike through this slow motion perfect hell. There's the man with his plaid shirt tucked into his khakis who is watering his yard and always turns to smile and wave at me. There's the older woman unloading her groceries from the back of her car. She, too, turns and waves. I can see smoke from someone's backyard as they grill out. Children frolic in a sprinkler in the front yard. The music box tinkle continues through this all. Finally, I arrive at a house that I know, but is not mine. I go through the sliding glass door and end up in a kitchen where a blonde woman with a large butcher knife is cutting something up on the kitchen island. She smiles as I come in. My heart begins to pound, and I am afraid.
And then I wake up. Every stinking time. I wake up. Heart pounding and afraid.
My fear is that someday, I won't wake up. Someday, I will understand this dream. Someday, she will speak to me and I know what she's cutting up and why I should be afraid. Someday.....
And that will be the last dream I'll ever have.
No comments:
Post a Comment