My parents, sisters and husband are running through the city. There are “bad guys” dressed in military style garb scattered all about – on street corners, in buildings, driving tanks. It is noisy and chaotic, people are yelling and screaming. We get captured and are taken to sit around an outdoor fire pit. There is an enclosure around the benches we are sitting on and the fire keeps swelling, getting larger and larger. We have been instructed to sit there and not move, but if we don’t move, we will all burn. (Apparently this is what the bad guys want – for us to burn). My gut instinct tells me to RUN! ESCAPE!
Somehow I know that if we stay put, we will not all burn at the same time, one of us would go first, then the next, etc… and the idea of being the only one burning while the rest watched or being the last one to burn and watching the rest burn before me are equally revolting. If I went first, would I try to suppress a scream, to make it less torturous to the rest of my family? Would that even be possible? How could one just sit there, watching your own skin bubble up and blacken? I think we should run. My mom thinks we need to just stay and burn, because what awaits us if we escape, and are caught, is much worse than being scorched alive.
FIRE: Dream Forth tells me that to dream of being burned by fire suggests that I need to reign in my emotions. They tell me, and I quote, “Your temper is volatile”. HA! This is the most dead-on dream interpretation I’ve found yet. Um, hello? I’m Irish AND Italian. Which basically means my innards are comprised primarily of volatile emotions. Volatile emotions sprinkled with a boatload of garlic and a healthy dollop of whiskey, and that’s about it.
Dream Moods counters with the argument that dreaming that I, or someone else, is being burned alive suggests that I am being consumed by my own ambition. I’m not even sure if being consumed by one’s own ambitions is a good or a bad thing. On one hand, I have days where I am ambitiously (and sometimes manically) working on one of my several projects that I have going on, while at other times my greatest ambition is sitting my ass on the couch with my feet up, consuming entire half-gallons of Chocolate Moose Tracks entirely independently. Per usual, I’m an all-or-nothing kind of gal. No real gray area with me.
ALTERNATIVE ANALYSIS: Preggo me has turned into a raging inferno that is emitting absurd amounts of body heat – so much, in fact, that my own body-generated temperature may cause me to have a dream about being burnt to death.
1) My husband is a human furnace. I occasionally call him “Furnaki” an English-Greek hybrid of a word that I made up in college, which means “cute little furnace”. Since his internal thermostat is so high, and his manly-Greek-pelt is so thick, he cranks up the air conditioning to blast-o-matic levels in order to cool himself down to a temperature that will not allow his brain to cook.
2) The old me used to sleep in long pants, tank top and hooded sweatshirt, snuggled underneath two blankets or comforters. Yes, even in the summer (see air-conditioning above). I’ve always been a “cold hands, warm heart” kind of person. But now? Now, I sleep with my shirt pulled up to my boobs, a cold-pack resting on my side, with no blankets touching me whatsoever. Since I am usually awake between the hours of 2.30a.m. – 4.30a.m. anyway, I swap out the warmed cold pack with a fresh one. The cold hands are a thing of the past, and some would say maybe I didn’t really have a warm heart to begin with…so there probably hasn’t been much of a shift there.
3) I guess we can add this to the ever-growing list of how pregnancy is turning me into my husband. But no, in case you are wondering, he does NOT sleep with his shirt pushed up to his boobs.
My friend Rob tells me my blog is really “girly”. I imagine this post is no different. Sorry, Rob! Maybe there will be more bloodshed and porn in the next one.