September 02, 2007
When I document another bad dream.
I just woke up from a conversation with my mother. Well, not an actual conversation, although I'm sure it contained bits and pieces of conversations I've had with her.
It starts out with me calling her to talk to her about some mundane little thing. I can't remember exactly what it was, but apparently I had left something at her house, and was calling to see if she had seen it. The irony here is that I haven't actually been in her house in more than 3 years, and don't imagine I'll be there again any time soon. But, I digress, this is a dream.
Of course I had left it there, and how very irresponsible of me to have done so. This was just one more example of all the little things I've done to disappoint my mother, and she was, in fact, quite certain that I would never be responsible.
She agreed to meet me half way (half of four miles?), and we met at the parking lot of a long-since-abandoned grocery store that used to have really great prices, but really low-qual foods. I pulled up in my truck, where she was impatiently standing by her car (not the Lincoln she drives now, but the Oldsmobile that she drove when she was a single mom barely making ends meet.)
She handed the (unknown) item to me, with some snarky comment about it being an excuse to come back to her house, to which I replied, equally as snarky, that she was absolutely right. That I so very much enjoyed arguing with her and my stepfather (I don't actually remember the part of the dream where this happened, but I either dreamed it and forgot, or just 'remembered' that it had happened.)
I wanted to hit her, but wasn't inclined to get out of my truck, and instead decided to roll my window up and drive off. However, before I could put my truck in drive, she had opened my door and started hitting me on the back of my head. (This hasn't happened for at least 16 years, but some things you just don't forget.) I started trying to undo my seatbelt, telling her that she had seriously fucked up, to which she responded by slapping me and saying that I was not going to speak to her like that.
By the time I got my seatbelt undone, stepped out of the truck, and pushed my hair out of my face, my mother had somehow transformed into...my ex husband. Nice. Even in my dreams I can't beat the shit out of my mom.
I have no such predjudices against beating the shit out of my ex husband, so I stepped up into his face calling him every name under the sun except his own. He shoved me back up against my truck, and it was about this point that I realized that my mother was standing about 10 feet away with my uncle and his second wife.
I remember feeling utterly betrayed that they would stand and watch as I was about to get beat down, which just enraged me more. I stepped up into the ex husbands face again, determined that if he was going to hit me, I was damn well going to deserve it. I started slapping him (I only ever slapped him once, and I've never slapped anyone since, although I'd really love to sometimes.) After about three slaps, he grabbed me by my hair, to which I retaliated by scratching him from his ear to his chin.
He knocked me to the ground, and started pushing me with his foot, punctuating every little shove with some tirade against something that I had done wrong. Some of the things he said are things I actually did (like leaving him when I was 8 1/2 months pregnant), and some of them were so random I honestly have no idea where they came from.
About this point I have this conscious thought that I was dreaming, and started saying it out loud. I could hear sirens, and started saying "I'm dreaming, I'm dreaming, don't you hear the sirens?" I started trying to get up (also started trying to wake up, too) but he kept pushing me back down.
When I finally did wake up, I realized that my cat was on my back, and I guess her little bit of weight was massively magnified in the dream, and I was certain that I wasn't going to be able to get up. Damn that cat.
Anyway, now that I've written all this, I'm not sure exactly why I felt the need to write it all...other than I just need to vent it.
I'm always amazed by the irony of my dreams. That even in my dream I was reluctant to hit my mom, but more than willing to fight my ex. That my favorite uncle whom I have adored since my earliest memories stood by and watched me take a beating.
Someday I'm going to dream someone into my dreams to take care of these things for me. Like, I'll teleport Dr. Phil into the middle of an argument with my mom and he'll stand there in his gray suit and pornstar moustache and say "Tell your mother how it makes you feel when she hits you." Or, *poof* Mike Tyson will magically appear and jerk my ex husband off of me and bite his ear off and then beat the shit out of him.
Only, the way my dreams work, Dr. Phil will probably have Mike Tyson hold me down while he asks me questions about sexual abuse and promiscuity while a camera films the whole thing for the 4:00 viewers. I think I'll pass.
Damn my antidepressants. Without them I'm a mess, and with them I have turned into a walking (or sleeping) psychaitrists dream patient.
On the upside, I finished my prescription that the gyno gave me, and since I don't recall my dreams being this awful before I started taking them, I have hopes that in a couple of days I'll go back to having dreams about getting fired and moving to Mexico. I can live with that.
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jktty at 9:15 a.m.