state of the dream address…

I have always paid close attention to my dreams. I was plagued with nightmares nearly every night of my life until I was about 30 years old, so I didn’t really have a choice in the matter. My dreams during this time made reading Stephen King a real bore. Of course, the dreams were all related to the unresolved conflicts I had about my family, the ensuing absence of self-esteem and real despair. The more I worked through my “stuff,” the fewer dreams I had. Now I only have a nightmare every two or three months and only during difficult times. Back in those days, it was almost like going to the cinema every night, but like most scary movies, you were left with an uneasy jumpy feeling for all of your waking hours. Since I knew nothing but nightmarish slumber in my younger years, I didn’t know what it was like to be at ease from a good night’s sleep. I also had severe insomnia. Although my psyche was under attack most nights, I did find the dreams fascinating and very informative in the healing process.

Last night I did have my requisite quarterly nightmare (which is nothing compared to the ones I used to have). I dreamed that I was dying. I was in a hospital bed and a homogenized-type of dream-friend came to see me. He brought Tarot cards because he thought they would be entertaining. Unfortunately, he wasn’t smart enough to take the death card out and it came up in every layout of the cards. Gee, thanks, asswipe. I was also undergoing treatment for my ear which, in real life, has been giving me lots of trouble. One team of nurses gave me one treatment, while the next two nurses said that the first two were incompetent and proceeded to provide another type of treatment. When I got out of the doctor’s office, everyone in my husband’s family was there. They weren’t there for me, but by way of the fact that they can’t operate as separate people. I got angry and stomped off, yelling and making everyone mad. I drove myself home and stranded my husband at the hospital. Then, suddenly I was running home in shorts and a t-shirt with shoes that hurt my feet. I put plastic bags in them for cushion, so I was running down the road with plastic bags fluttering about my ankles.

The dreams I used to have would be so frightening I would have panic attacks. I would dream that family members were crucified in the back yard, that my mother would decay before my very eyes, that people would be cutting off my limbs with big scissors…you name it. I’m glad those days are gone. Now I have flying dreams; dreams where I am the hero and punch the bad guy out, etc. Dreams say a lot about your state of mind.

If I could now only stop daydreaming at work.