Dream #14 : To Burn Or Not To Burn

DREAM:

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.

ANALYSIS:

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.

FUN FACTS:

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.

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My Pretty, My Precious

So, starting this blog has made me pay more attention to my sleep patterns, which I have pretty much brushed off up until this point.  I’ve decided that a further investigation of sleep aids, and maybe even a sleep study, is needed.  I will call this time period “My Search For Slumber”.

I am teacher, so initially I was thinking it would make sense that summer would be the ultimate time to test different sleep aids, since I’d have the benefit of not having to work the next morning.  This seemed pretty important, in case I woke up feeling like a zombie, like I did when I tried taking Nyquil.   At least over the summer, me being groggy or snarky or loopy, won’t be putting today’s youth at risk.  But, after a bit of thought, and some prompting from my cousin, Maggie, it occurred to me that I am often zombie-like, snarky or loopy, anyway.

In fact, my husband often asks me constructive questions such as, “Are you EVER in a good mood?”  To which I huff and roll my eyes.  But, I do recognize that I am often NOT in a good mood.  I’m exhausted.  I don’t have the energy to get everything done around the house.  Or to even do something that might be considered fun, like getting dressed up and going on a girls night out.  In a vain attempt to get someone else (Husband) to cheer me up, maybe I do complain too much. And, maybe that isn’t fair, to ask of him.  It also never works, so I don’t know why I keep trying that route.  I’m ok at putting on a façade of normalcy when I am at work.  But, that takes a lot of energy, and quite often after the work day is over, I want to collapse into a heap on the floor.  Sometimes, this is exactly what I do.

This isn’t to say that I am never actually in a good mood.  In fact, I’d say that I AM cheery and chipper, between 30-50% the time.  But, on those days, I am almost manic.   Hyper.  Energetic.  Excessively talkative.  In one 24 hour period I jog, scrub the sinks and organize my closet.  I get ahead on my paperwork.  I scrapbook, I sew blankets, make homemade cards, design road rallys, and create elaborate themes for parties, I cut out pages within old books to create secret cavities for hiding secret objects.  On these days, I am productive as hell.  I am on top of the world! If only I could harness this energy and feel like this every day. (Sidebar:  I have an irrational fear that someone will make me accidentally try heroin or meth and I will LOVE IT and feel like this every day, and I will become an addict, my face will turn skeletal and I will develop oozing sores all over my body, my husband will divorce me and I will die a pitiful, homeless, wreck.  The horror!)  If I see my sisters on days like this, they will ogle me and ask if I am okay.  One of them in particular usually tries to make me tone it down, but of course I simply mock her for reprimanding me.  This lasts for a period of days to weeks, and then I crash back down to reality.  I usually land on my face.  It hurts.

So, you might think that I possibly need to test out some other medications, than just the sleep aids.  And you are probably right. However, I’m not ready to go there, quite yet (In anticipation of when that occurs, I have already named that time period, “My Search for Sanity”.) For now, I’m hoping that helping improve the quality of my sleep will result in a better quality of life when awake.  How could it not?

So, my first test began last night.  My cousin Maggie recently went on a trip to France. She, too, experiences some difficulty sleeping, so while there she discovered a French sleep aid that she refers to as, My Pretty. In a fantastic blog about her trip, she referenced the benefits of My Pretty several times and brought home several boxes with her.  I like to imagine her scouring neighborhoods for any drug store within a 40 mile radius (or should I say 65 kilometer radius) and buying each and every one of them out of My Pretty.  I picture her purchasing an extra duffel bag for the sole purpose of bringing as many My Pretties home as possible, her throwing out the boxes to save room for the good stuff, the case stuffed to the brim with pills, and perhaps a few chocolate croissants or baguettes shoved in for good measure.  But, maybe this is just what I would do.  She generously sent me a sample of My Pretty, and has been hounding me to try them.  She sent me the informational pamphlet along with the pills, but of course it is in French.  So, I have no idea what chemicals abound within the little square tablet.  Could be carcinogens, neurotoxins, Anthrax. But, it could still be worth it.

My Pretties, French Pamphlet. Note how I greedily tore open the fleur-de-lis envelope, knowing what awaited me inside.

So, I began My Search for Slumber last night and popped of the My Pretties down my throat before bed.  I always read each night before going to sleep, and after about ½ hour I did notice my eyes getting particularly heavy.  GOOD SIGN, since generally I start becoming MORE awake after about 8 pm or so.  So, I was hopeful.  I woke up 4 times, which is the typical amount of wakeups I generally experience. But, normally upon these wakeups I feel AWFUL.  EXHAUSTED and angry about the fact that I am awake.  Last night when I awoke, I didn’t feel so bad.  So, other than the time I got up to pee (which occurs at minimum once per night), I just went back to sleep.  I woke up okay.  Not too tired.  Could it be?  Could it actually be helpful?  Suddenly I am referring to this French tablet as, My Precious.  I picture myself becoming hunch-backed, losing my hair, eyeballs starting to consume my entire face.  I see myself ready to maim anyone who might try to take My Precious away from me. We’ll see if My Pretty really becomes My Precious.   I would happily turn into Gollum, if it meant success in My Search for Slumber.