Nightmares

I had my first nightmare in a couple of months last night. It was God awful--one of the worst I have ever had in a life plagued by them. I woke up this morning unable to shake it. I read and whispered aloud some prayers. The nightmare is still there, hanging on me, wafting through my office now.

But of course, I cannot have a nightmare and not think of writing. I suppose that's the writer's curse. Nothing occurs that you won't mine for fiction. Everything goes into the brain and is filtered.

Now . . . I "get" my nightmare in a "Paging Dr. Freud" sense. I had a dream I found the PERFECT yoga studio, run by a Buddhist from Hawaii. Okay, I have no idea about the Hawaii part since I am afraid to fly and would never go there and don't have an interest in going there, but there you go. And for SOME reason, the yoga studio was across the street from both a bank and a bar. Okay--so I would like to make more money since I have a kid going to college next year . . . and I like to go out with my friends and socialize. But here's where it gets strange (what? It's not already strange?). I was assualted in the bank (just punched a few times, but still, not the usual bank experience) and when I reported it to the police I was interviewed by a male cop and a female cop--and they drove me home and the male cop assaulted me so horrifically, I had to stab him to death. Okay, so there's a sneak peak into my mind.

But here's the thing. I am not a violent person. I really strongly dislike cops and break out in a sweat at the sight of a police cruiser . . . but that is more because they TERRIFY me (lest I now get a ton of emails about hating law enforcement--I know there are many, many fine men and women in blue . . . . but frankly, they scare me, plus my dad hates 'em and so there you go; I am cop phobic--but yes, I DO really understand they exist to serve and protect us . . . this is a DREAM--as an aside, they had a"cop tent" at the county fair and I couldn't even walk in it--LOL!). So the idea of going to someone in authority for protection? And then they betray and hurt you and it's so horrific? GREAT MATERIAL FOR A NOVEL!

So as I sift through this dream (and I am watering down the details here for a public blog) . . . and how terrifying it was . . . I am equally intrigued by both its subject matter, AND . . . here's the big thing . . . the RAWNESS of the emotions. Because they are very fresh, and now it's something I can draw on.

Now I have to go upstairs and wake my kids up. I will kiss them and (in the baby's case) put my face down to him and simply inhale baby scent . . . and that will chase the rest of this away. I will have my tea. I will get them all off to school. The turmoil will be gone. But the material? Now part of the Vault that is my Writing Brain.

So you don't have to (unless you wanna) share your dreams and nightmares . . . but do you USE them or am I the only one on the Couch today?

Peace,
E

Things That Go Bump in the Night

I am operating on about three hours of sleep courtesy of my air conditioning breaking on the hottest day of the year, with the heat index around 110. I was in bed, heart racing from the heat, feeling like I was suffocating. When I finally DID fall asleep, my baby son's musical potty chair malfunctioned and went off.

Yes, I said a musical potty chair. You pee, it plays a song. What will they think of next? But the chair decided it needed to play at odd hours of the night, and I went and hid the thing in the closet, thinking then I wouldn't hear it--but no, it was loud enough in a quiet house to hear even from the closet.

And THEN, when I finally dozed, because I wasn't properly in my sleep cycle, I had some killer nightmares.

From what I remember, the main one had to do with a rat biting my hand and latching on. I could FEEL its tail wrapping around my wrist, and the pain in my hand as its jaws tightened, and I woke up gasping for air, crying.

Now, I "get" why I had this dream. Once every three weeks or so, my significant other brings home a rat for Lydia, the python, to consume. The snake is my son's and she started out about the width of a pencil. Suffice it to say she is now over a foot long and pretty thick. She's very docile, but I just cannot even bring myself to touch her. When Lydia came home, I was very upset because I didn't, as a Buddhist, like the idea of sacrificing little animals to feed her. But I was overruled. So I basically told my son when he goes off to college in a few years, his roomie better like reptiles, because Lydia will be booted.

Anyway, this whole Wild Kingdom drama plays out every three weeks. I cry over the rat, my son consoles me and tells me to go outside while the kill is taking place. I sometimes even light a candle for the poor rats. BUT . . . BUT . . . I hate rats. I truly do. I would rather touch the snake than touch a rat. I hate them, hate them, hate them. Hence the nightmare--a combo of guilt and revulsion.

So there you go. I also have a really morbid fear of clowns (even Jimmy Stewart playing Buttons in The Greatest Show on Earth). Cockroaches send me over the edge. But I am surprisingly cool about spiders. I still sleep with a nightlight on though, and when I stay in hotel rooms when I travel alone to NYC, I always check under the bed and in the closet and the shower stall.

As a writer, I really think about these fears and phobias, because a good writer will use universal fears, as well as other creepy, crawly elements to make us pull the covers up as we read.

So . . . what is it that scares you? That when a masterful movie or book depicts it, you want to crawl under the blankets? What goes bump in the night.

E

P.S. And if I start having nightmares about singing, talking mutant toilets, I'll let you know.