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PSA and Dreams
Jun. 12th, 2006 11:15 amHave a lot to do today, won't be around much. Groggy and fuzzy from bad dreams last night and this morning.
It's funny how when you wake up and go to tell someone about a nightmare, you realize that upon description, it doesn't sound frightening. But you can still remember the cold sweat and the dry throat and the inability to breath properly on waking. And you struggle and flail to make these seemingly tame and normal images seem frightening, but there aren't any words to describe the particular sense of dread that accompanied them in the dream and made them so terrifying. You walk away from the conversation convinced that people think you're mad.
This is especially true if, like me, the situations that are frightening in your dreams are ludicrous when described in waking hours. Anne Geddes babies with springs on their feet and giant teeth? Madness! And terrifying. An army of robot gladiators led by roman emperors attacking a Seattle apartment complex full of Harry Potter characters? Ridiculous! And enough to give me cold sweats. Last night's slumber-time horror involved Donald Duck and his strange, reclusive girlfriend Diamond Duck; Captain Kirk the cannibal, an old mansion where my sister and I worked as a servants of some sort and a... I still don't know if it was a man or a woman who was the right hand of the wealthy German noble who owned the place. But I remember having to hide beneath elaborately carved Victorian furniture, and duck down narrow corridors and hide in the walls to escape the eyes of my enemies. I don't know why I was being chased. In dreams, I never do. And I had to get to the telephone that was ringing in the ante-chamber by the kitchen, but I was still hiding in a smoking parlor with the man/woman, and Lenna was somehow able to get the telephone to bring it to me and in the dream I knew with certain dread that the reclusive lady-duck was on the telephone, and wanted to kill me.
I was shook out of it by having an actual phone thrust at my ear while still in bed and asleep, and it took me a few moments to separate the dream from the reality. Then I fell back to sleep and I still don't know what I dreamed and what was real, but I'm rather certain Lenna's computer monitor melting did not actually happen.
Perhaps I'd better check, just to be certain.
It's funny how when you wake up and go to tell someone about a nightmare, you realize that upon description, it doesn't sound frightening. But you can still remember the cold sweat and the dry throat and the inability to breath properly on waking. And you struggle and flail to make these seemingly tame and normal images seem frightening, but there aren't any words to describe the particular sense of dread that accompanied them in the dream and made them so terrifying. You walk away from the conversation convinced that people think you're mad.
This is especially true if, like me, the situations that are frightening in your dreams are ludicrous when described in waking hours. Anne Geddes babies with springs on their feet and giant teeth? Madness! And terrifying. An army of robot gladiators led by roman emperors attacking a Seattle apartment complex full of Harry Potter characters? Ridiculous! And enough to give me cold sweats. Last night's slumber-time horror involved Donald Duck and his strange, reclusive girlfriend Diamond Duck; Captain Kirk the cannibal, an old mansion where my sister and I worked as a servants of some sort and a... I still don't know if it was a man or a woman who was the right hand of the wealthy German noble who owned the place. But I remember having to hide beneath elaborately carved Victorian furniture, and duck down narrow corridors and hide in the walls to escape the eyes of my enemies. I don't know why I was being chased. In dreams, I never do. And I had to get to the telephone that was ringing in the ante-chamber by the kitchen, but I was still hiding in a smoking parlor with the man/woman, and Lenna was somehow able to get the telephone to bring it to me and in the dream I knew with certain dread that the reclusive lady-duck was on the telephone, and wanted to kill me.
I was shook out of it by having an actual phone thrust at my ear while still in bed and asleep, and it took me a few moments to separate the dream from the reality. Then I fell back to sleep and I still don't know what I dreamed and what was real, but I'm rather certain Lenna's computer monitor melting did not actually happen.
Perhaps I'd better check, just to be certain.
