Updated: Nov 21, 2020
I have looked at books interpreting dreams and have realized, none of the interpretations ever apply to mine. I rate them like the daily horoscopes in the paper, meaningless. When mine says get ready for some hot lovin’ tonight while sporting an overnight sized maxi pad, one begins to doubt the horoscope Gods. Lives and dreams are person specific. How can you spout generic drivel to the masses and be accurate? May the odds forever be in their favor? I know some dreams can be easily reasoned. You don’t have to have a PH.D to realize your sleep was filled with dinosaur chase scenes because you binged a Jurassic Park fest on your new big screen. Or the dreams where you can’t remember your locker combination or where your math class is located. Actually, I had to look that one up. But what about the really weird ones? How do you look up; older male neighbor from childhood, wearing a black negligee, hanging up laundry on an outdoor clothesline in between the house you grew up in and the neighboring one? Even worse than the scary slasher dreams or the bad guy chasing you and your movements are as slow as 5:00 Seattle traffic, are the “shit” dreams. Oh boy do I hate those. You need to do your business; you’re searching for a place to plant your butt, but all the stalls are over-flowing with feces and soaking toilet paper. Or there is no privacy in which to do so. No doors, sometimes no toilets or toilets that are out of order and you have no choice but to use it anyway. Or you dream wake up in a bed and there is shit everywhere. On the bed, covering the floor. It may be dried poop, but just as disgusting when you step in it. Thankfully out of all my shit dreams, only a couple have involved it getting in my mouth. I’ll take a “Scream” themed nightmare over those any day. I thought everyone had them but when questioning my sons and husband about their shit dreams they looked at me like I was of the stinky brown substance. I became terribly concerned I was the only person on earth having them. Perhaps a padded room was in my future. After giving numerous examples I thankfully saw the little lightbulbs glow above their heads. They did have them. They just hadn’t named them. Now if one of us has one, we can’t help but share. “Yep, had a shit dream last night. Grocery store was full of it but not a toilet roll in sight.” Hmm. Or maybe that really happened. See Covid-19, 2020. The funny dreams are great. I have only had a handful in my many, many years but can remember most and they still make me laugh. The one where I am bowling with Sally Field and each time she gets up to bowl, the bowling ball flies off into other lanes or knocks down food laden tables in perfect comedic timing, her face the picture of innocence. I woke up laughing so hard the bed was rocking. I nearly peed the bed while my husband threatened separation papers.
Even more rare are the mind-blowing orgasm dreams. Unless you are a teenaged boy, by the time you reach retirement age, you can count those on one hand. And the timing in the dream is weird too. I, for some reason, am dressed in a butcher’s long white jacket. I enter the walk-in freezer and reach up to grab a meat selection wrapped in white paper when, WHAM, full on “O.” Who would have thought a side of beef was so erotic? I don’t’ get it. I mean, where the Hell was Brad Pitt? Had another one last night. After decades, quite unexpected to say the least and more than a little strange; I pull into a dark parking lot, my baby grandson is in the back. I take out his stroller but not him. I am then lost in Macy’s, carrying around this empty stroller and a large jacket. I climb down this rope like staircase into a cold room to find I am in the Macy’s morgue! I ask the nice man behind the counter where the shoe department is. He enlists a person to show me the way. As I am following, struggling with the stroller and the jacket that has grown even larger, I realize in horror, I have left my baby G son in the dark carpark which I have belatedly surmised, is wrong. I am now plotting to ditch the helper person to get the baby but not until we get to the shoe department as I do not want to reveal my slight. (Or knowing myself, wanted to take a quick peek at the shoes before I ran to the rescue.) Then, while trying to figure out if I meant to leave him there of if I truly just forgot, like forgetting a child but not his personal ride is acceptable, I grab a thin tree that is in the middle of Macy’s and SHAZAM...a triple waved orgasm. Here’s the funny part; I keep trying to follow the person, but the orgasm is so intense I can’t do anything but grab the tree and hope I am not noticed having party in my pants. Then I start to feel guilty about experiencing pleasure while my G kid sits alone in the dark, so try to stop the orgasm. Now I start to wake and realize this is really happening but am so unnerved by the dream's content I still try to hush the O. By the third and least intense wave I’m mind screaming...don’t go, come back! I don’t know which part is the most upsetting. My subconsciouses propensity to abandon babies, finding Macy’s shoe department a sexual turn on, or knowing I won’t get another mind-blowing dream orgasm for another decade. What I do know is I won’t be sharing this little dream with my G kid’s mother. I’ll never get to see him again.