Frightening doesn’t begin to describe it.
I have some really weird habits. For instance, I pick at scabs, pull my hair out along my temples, and attack my toenails. (Seriously. I have like four left. My pedicurist never remembers my face, but as soon as she sees my feet she says, “It’s you!”) I also cry in my sleep. Scream, too. Sometimes I cry so hard or scream so loud, I pop bolt upright in bed, barely able to breathe and staring at my husband who’s staring at me and saying something to the effect of, “I’ve been trying to wake you up for like ten minutes. What the hell were you dreaming about?”
I honestly don’t know what I was dreaming about, but I’m pretty certain it wasn’t pleasant.
Of course sometimes I do know what I was dreaming about. Take last night, for instance.
In my dream, I saw an animal running through our backyard. I mean, I think it was our backyard. It was a dream. It could’ve been your backyard. In any case, this ball of fur flew past me straight to the back door where it pawed at the bottom, trying to get in.
Luckily the door was closed.
And then it wasn’t.
It was open at the top.
F-ing dreams.
At the same moment I see that the door is open, the tiny but scary sasquatch thing sees it too.
In a flash, he, it, whatever, scrambles up, over the door, and into the house. My house! Do I scream “Help!”? Do I scream “Stop!”? No. I scream, “What is that? What is that?!!!”
The remainder of this post concludes here. Thank you for reading!
