Dreams play a big part in our sleeping life. Sometimes we don't remember them and sometimes we do. Some are blushing with sex or as tragic as Romeo and Juliet story. Some seem to be so real that when we wake we wonder if the dream was real. Some make sense and others not even the CIA could crack.
This is what brings me to my subject at hand; dreams. As a writer I am always asked where do you get such ideas? One main source is my dreams. Now mind you, I don't dream of killing people or even harming anyone. I just have fragments of images. For instance in "A Politician's Sin" I kept dreaming of a child watching from her bedroom window a man digging a hole in the backyard. Just a bit of fragmented dream caused me to come up with the idea about murder and family scandal.
What if a dream becomes a nuisance? When I mean nuisance, I mean reoccurring like a bad movie on television. A few years ago I began having a reoccurring dream, that nearly lasted for three months back in 1995 and since then have had this same dream as least four to five times a year lasting up to a few days to a couple of months. My husband at the time found the whole thing amusing as did other family members and friends as I found myself with not much sleep.
Oh yes, people are quick to help counsel you with this sleep disorder. I was taking over the counter sleeping medications, they were useless. I took the little drink before bed approach, someone should have warned me dreams are more frequent when you do that. I thought, since the dream occurred at night I would switch my sleeping hours from night to day. Guess what? Wrong. I even tried to analyze it and came up empty handed. Recently however, the dream is back and with vengence. Naps are even interrupted. Curious, I had to find the truth. Why am I having this dream?
With this mission I enlisted the help of my dear older cousin, who seems to think she knows everything. I was told to write every detail down not leaving out anything. After that she was going to looking up meanings on the internet.
It's the middle of the day and I'm vaccumming the front room of my house. I am wearing my favorite shorts and Rolling Stone t-shirt and barefooted. I hear my children, who are in the den watching that awful hellium voice Sponge Bob. As I vaccum the doorbell rings. I stop and answer the front door. I don't check to see who it is. I should, but I don't. I just open the door, there is nobody there, but the song Mrs. Robinson by Simon and Grafunkel is playing. I shake my head shut the door and return to my vaccumming. The doorbell rings. I stop vaccumming. Once again I do not check the door. I just open it. Nobody is there and the music of Mrs. Robinson is playing. I poke my head out onto the porch. Nobody there except for that song. I shut the door and return to my duties with the vaccum cleaner. Despite the vaccum cleaner going I can still hear my kids. The doorbell rings again. I stop vaccumming and answer the door. This time instead of Simon and Garfunkel's Mrs. Robinson, it's been replaced with Marvin Gaye's Let's Get It On. I don't even look on the porch this time. I start to shut the door when this masculine hand stops me. He firmly pushes the door open and its...its...Ted Raimi? Yes, you heard me Ted Raimi, the brother of Sam Raimi. Ted is in a tuxedo looking at me in a seductive way. The music continues and I'm no longer wearing my shorts and tee shirt but a very sexy red dress. I don't hear my kids anymore as Ted begins to dance with me. I tell him "I'm married" and he answers, "Not anymore." He stares into my eyes and he's just about to kiss me when I wake up.
By now my cousin's mouth is gapping with shock and by the following expression she has given me I have lost my marbles. She finally collects herself and replies, "I think you need professinal help."
Some help she was. Now at my wits end I have come to a conclusion besides learning to live with the dream. The conclusion is?
Mrs. Robinson and Let's Get It On are two songs I can live without. I do like wearing shorts and tee while cleaning house barefooted. I dislike Spong Bob. I check my door everytime I answer it. I have never owned a red sexy dress in my life. I don't know anything about dancing. I don't have a husband anymore, because he died. I don't know Ted Raimi, but have he could be an interesting man. It all boils down to this. Sleepless nights can be down right irritating, but what's more irritating; for the love of God could I get that kiss before I wake up?
