I woke up angry this morning. Just really angry. Why? Because of dreams I’d been having.
Dreams! Seriously!
I don’t know if I blogged about this (I don’t think I did) but last week I clicked on a link that I shouldn’t have– someone had it on their blog, didn’t say what it was (basically it just said “Click here– it’s shocking”) and I should not have clicked on it, because it was video footage of the latest beheading to take place. From start to finish. And once it came onscreen, I was too panicked trying to turn it off to be able to. Well. I did not ever, ever need to see that in my life. Why should I have that image in my head from now on? I must say that yes, maybe I need to know that these things are happening. But do I need to see it to believe it? No. And had I known what the link led to– I would not have clicked on it.
So I’ve been having nightmares about that.
Every night.
Plus nightmares about the mom who wants me fired– again last night I dreamed that she actually did get me fired. I woke up crying from that one.
Then my dreams moved on into really weird stuff… Someone was coming over who wanted to have sex with me. And I didn’t want to have sex with them, no way, but there was going to be no way for me to stop them once they got to my house (which was apparently an annex to my school), so I hid in my basement. Behind the furnace. Only someone had died in there, and the ghost kept coming and talking to me, and I was trying to convince the ghost that it had to shut up or the people coming over for all the sex were going to hear us talking and know where I was. And then the jig would be up. Stupid ghost wouldn’t shut up.
Then the dream changed. Ozzy and Sharon Osbourne had written a book about how to keep your bookshelves clean and my mother and I were cleaning up my bookshelves (I didn’t really want to, but Ozzy was coming over and Sharon was already there; she was wearing HUGE amounts of eye makeup and had on this awesome dress that I would absolutely covet if it actually existed in reality. Oh and it was the pre-stomach stapling Sharon). So we did everything the book said to do, with my mom kind of harping on me, until all the shelves were clean. Then Mom was like “But we have to clean the top of the shelf!” “Mom, there aren’t any books up there! And it’s 11 feet high! We can’t reach it!” “REACH!” So I reached and the whole bookshelf fell over on top of me. And Rob woke me up because I was talking in my sleep (“Now look what you’ve done! Jesus!”, apparently. And something about calling someone a dink, but in my dream I was using the f-word so maybe he misheard me).
Anyway. I still think about that mean mom every minute of my day. It’s horrible. I’ll be driving, I’ll see a tree, I’ll think of the mean mom. Watching a movie, think of the mean mom. Put on my bathrobe, think of the mean mom.
I
need
to
get
over
it.
