lucyoncolorado

In which H knows she's dead...

H was in my dream again last night, only this time she was dead and she knew she was dead. She tried to explain why she did it. I can't remember her reasons, but I do remember feeling that I was finally getting some explanation. I tried to tell her how it crushed us. I asked her if she thought of us, and she said how she thought we'd get on and get over it, and I explained how actually everything was different now and how we aren't talking about being sad, but rather being completely unable to even function for months. She became defensive, and I tried to reassure her that I wasn't angry. She told me something to tell J, only she called him B. I corrected her but tried to make it sound like a question. "Don't you mean J?" "That's right!" she answered, and she threw her head back and laughed in a hearty way. It sounded just like her, and I can hear it now.

Then it turned sinister. She started to poke at my ribs. At first, I acted like it was just goofing around, and I tried to be a good sport about it. Then I started to tell her to stop, but she became more aggressive. I tried to walk away, but she came after me and overpowered me. I realized I was dreaming and became lucid. H started to look more like a phantom or a demon than herself. I tried to stop the dream or run away, but I couldn't control it. I tried to wake up. I screamed and tried to hold my breath. There was no way to get out of the dream. Meanwhile, the demon was attacking me now- pushing me, holding me down and tickling me, punching me in the face. I was frustrated that I couldn't wake up. Even though I knew it wasn't real, it was still very painful. I decided to just submit- to lay still and relax in the hopes that I would fall into a different dream, but the pain and the attack was too uncomfortable. Finally I succeeded in screaming so loudly that it woke me up.


In which I go fishing...

My father was helping me prepare my rod to go fishing. We were attaching small lead weights and packing the tackle box. He told me to use cheese as bait for catfish. The only cheese I had in my fridge is the yummy new cheddar R bought last night at the grocery store. My father told me to smush the cheese into a little ball around the hook, the way we used to do with Catfish Charlie's when I was a girl. I asked him if we could use any old cheese or if it had to be the nice cheddar, and he said even sliced yellow American would work. Later I threw all the materials and a giant catfish in the back of my truck.

In which tiny people live in my backpack...

I'm at someone's house, and a man is ill- sleeping on a pallet on the floor of the living room. I'm in the back bedroom with my work backpack which contains my water bottle and coffee thermos. A family of tiny people live in the back room. Two of them crawl inside my backpack, and my thermos falls over and crushes one tiny person's arm. I run into the living room with the ill man and ask how much Ibuprofen we can safely give per mg of body weight. He is still on the floor, but he looks up at me and scoffs. "Stupid American! We don't measure body weight by mg!" I try to explain that we do when the people in question are part of the tiny family that lives in his back bedroom, but he is just convinced that I don't understand the metric system and won't help me calculate the correct amount of painkiller. I get some Ibuprofen and try to break off an incredibly small crumb for the tiny hurting lad. It takes a long time to reset his bones and wrap them up in a tiny splint. Then I remember that I left the catfish in the back of my truck. I run outside and have a look at it; it has rotted and it stinks. What wasteful behavior! A pointless death.


I haven't posted my dreams regularly for a long time now. Maybe I'll come in later and start writing up a few I've missed.