Repeats in Dreamland

Lots of people have recurring dreams.  There's lots of people who dream the same dream over and over, every time they close their eyes.  Even my husband, who tends to have "Scooby-Doo" dreams where the Nazis chase him all over the castle looking for the lost city of El Dorado, will sometimes have the same dream a couple of nights in a row.  I've had dreams of tornadoes chasing me down a residential street, or spiders invading my mattress.  Some of us will consult friends or look up information in books or online regarding dream symbols or dream interpretation.  Others will just drink a glass of milk before bed and hope that does the trick.

Why do our brains offer us re-runs in Dreamland? It's like our dreams are created by ABC, so during the summer there are re-runs. If the brain does it, however, there must be a reason.  Is there some sort of  Dream Cable, and we are supposed to pay the bill on occasion?  If so, can I order a nice romantic comedy to dream about? Preferably starring Henry Cavil?  

Some say that dreams recur because there's something that you need to work on or change about yourself.  Once you acknowledge that, the dream will stop recurring. That's the one that I usually go with; tornadoes, for instance, are symbols of crisis, and that made perfect sense at the time.  Repeat dreams might also be your brain working out a problem while you are sleeping; when it figures out that difficult Algebra I equation from 8th grade, your brain will move on.  Maybe.  Recurring dreams could also just be a sign that you need to stop eating the Carnosaur special at the local deli after 7pm. You just never know. 

My latest repeat dream has no deep philosophical meaning.  I'm not being chased, I'm not falling, I'm not standing naked in front of the United Nations.  My brain is not working out any particularly important life problem.

My current recurring dream?  That I am sitting on the toilet, going. 

Yep. 

That's my big time recurring dream. Nothing bad is happening. I'm not scared. Jack Nicholson will not be popping up out of the commode to bite me on the butt.  I just really have to go, in my dream, and so I do. It's a wonderful feeling. I'll be in that half-dream sort of state, but everything is groovy in my dream, so I carry on.

Except that I am not actually on the toilet.  I am lying in bed!  Abort! Abort!   I always manage to stumble to the bathroom just in the nick of time.  Is this what small children go through when they are potty training? 

I have a brain that wakes me up so I can go to the bathroom.  How about that, Dr. Freud?   Does anyone else have that happen?  Or is it just me?  Should I be embarrassed?  Probably.  But if I were that embarrassed, I probably shouldn't be posting this online, huh?

Those College Classes Come Back

I learned a great deal in college.  I was one of those students who sat in the second row and took notes and turned in my homework, so I paid attention.  In my psychology classes, we discussed the great Sigmund Freud and his stages of childhood psychosexual development.   Problems in one of these stages led to issues in later life, said Freud.  I dutifully wrote down the stages--oral, anal, phallic, latency, genital--and I can remember thinking that Freud seemed to think that everything was about sex.  (And most of what he posited has been deemed faulty, but Freud was swimming in uncharted territory at the time. Nobody had done what he did before.)  The phallic stage is the stage of development where we have the Oedipus Complex brewing, which has received a great deal of negative publicity for obvious reasons.  

Last weekend Zane and I were left to our own devices while Larry went off to do soccer stuff.  We were playing with cars, and I was admiring the little Shelby Cobra, when Zane put both hands on either side of my face, so he and I would be eye to eye.

"I love you, Mama."  He smiled so sweetly. 

"Awww!" I hugged him tightly.  "So sweet!  I love you, too."

"I'm going to marry you."  Zane was still smiling angelically, and so was I.

Inside my head was a different story.  At first I was confused, and then I panicked, because I wasn't sure how the heck to respond. What do you say to that, that isn't going to completely screw up a kid's head?  Even if you don't say anything, your silence could be misinterpreted. Then I remembered my child development classes. Statements like this are developmentally appropriate, I realized, as a boy begins to figure out his place in the world.  Apparently, I was paying attention in that college class.  I immediately noted that Zane was in the phallic stage, according to the age ranges. Not that I agreed with Herr Freud.  The boy is figuring out the boundaries, I decided. There was nothing to be concerned about.  After all, I thought, Zane will grow up and be an adult, he'll get married and have a family of his own.  No reason to freak out, no reason at...Holy cow!  My child is going to grow up!  He's going to be an actual adult!  He's going to be married and have kids of his own!  I took a deep, calming breath so I wouldn't hyperventilate.  I remembered my promise to myself, to try and live in the now.

"No son," I kept my voice neutral.  "When you are older, you will meet a nice girl and marry her.  Then you will get your own house and live there."

There. That was pretty benign, right?  No.  

"Noooooo!  I want to marry YOU and live with YOU and Daddy!"  Zane threw himself down on the floor, signaling the beginning of a major hysterical conniption.  I just laughed. This was the drama that I know and love--Oscar winning material, for sure.  I went for the distraction, knowing my son's love of chocolate chip cookies. 

"Hey, let's go make cookies, okay?"

"Okay."  He was down the stairs before I knew it, the little toot.

Randomly Random

There are tons of great restaurants out there, with excellent food.  What gets me coming back, besides a superb artichoke snapper, is the service. It's the little things, like how fast I'm seated, and how quickly after I am seated does a waiter show up, and whether they know the best wine to serve with snapper.  But I have a dark secret:  I am a sucker for an obsequious waiter.  I adore them.  My ice cold heart melts a little inside when I get that kind of fawning attention.  It is nice to have someone fussing over you every now and then.  Oh, I am sure that if I had it all the time, it would get on my nerves and I would hate it.  But for the duration of my meal, to have someone hovering and seeming to cater to my whims makes me smile. 

I got this fortune in a fortune cookie, and I really like it.  Heroes don't have to look like Bruce Campbell and fight a zombie horde created from an evil book, but that's what we expect.  Look what that kind of pressure did to Lance!


I went to eat by myself the other day, because I've heard that most people would rather have root canal than eat by themselves.  I decided to test that theory.  Not my usual fast food drive-through experience, but an actual sit down restaurant.  I sat in the middle of the room with my back to the door, which is so completely unlike me.  I went completely out of character!  It was interesting.  Lots of men dine alone in restaurants, I've observed, but not many women.  Why is that?  Is it because eating is so closely tied to socializing?  I thought that I would feel uncomfortable.  After the initial once-over by the other patrons, I was left alone with my thoughts, which were on...queso.  But I refrained, and had the much healthier salsa with my chips.  I did not feel rushed by anyone, I read a few emails on my phone, and just enjoyed the moment. 

I have a dirty mind, people tell me.  They are probably right. I've been told that this means that I am a closet Freudian, but I just think that my mind likes to wander in that direction because it's usually a more interesting place.  When people say things that my mind considers off color, whether it was intended so or not, I want to giggle.  If what is said is actually meant to be off color?  I might actually laugh.  Out loud.  Sometimes I can cover that with a cough or two, but my son wasn't born yesterday.  He always wants to know why I am laughing, and I am sure not going to tell him.  I had to figure all that double entendre' out for myself.  Kids today have it easy!

I am thinking about going to one of the board meetings for our subdivision.  Why would I subject myself to such a horrible cesspool of political intrigue(second only to the average PTA)?  Because I think they should install speed bumps on the street that intersects mine.  It's a straight road, with enough time to build up speed before you hit a sharp right, and people speed.  How do I know that people speed?  Easy--dead animals.  If you are going the speed limit, like you are supposed to, you should have enough time to hit the brakes and avoid hitting Mr. Kitty or Rocky Raccoon.  Every time I see a dead animal in the middle of the road, I start thinking that that could have been a child, or an old person, and I don't want that.  Well, there are certain people that I think deserve to be run over in the street, but those are my little day dreams when I'm frustrated.  



 I am visiting Stacy at Stacy Uncorked today.  Go visit her, because she is awesome!