I've mentioned before how I don't believe dreams are particularly meaningful. Mine never make sense and frankly, the ideas wake up to at 3:00 a.m. don't make much sense by 8:00 a.m. either. (Although it did seem revolutionary and visionary to think of publishing my last novel as a blog post in order to skip all the hard work of finding a publisher and then I'd make it big as a writer when people began buzzing about my book after reading it for free online. I was all ready to do it, too, at 2:24 the other morning. By 9:00 that day I came to my senses. My book's not pornographic, so of course it wouldn't attract the same traffic as other "books" published as a blog post. See what I mean? Middle of the night epiphanies are really junk.)
Moments ago killed the 7th box elder bug of the day. Its squashed body is resting in peace beside my laptop as I type this, neatly wrapped in a scrap of paper. I'll unceremoniously deposit it in the trash later when I get up to refill my coffee cup. That I dreamed last night about my kitchen walls being covered in box elder bugs strikes me as purely coincidental.
I also dreamed last night that I was having a baby. While waiting for the doctor, Mr. D ferried my two oldest boys off to a friend's to wait. The doctor arrived and began slicing open my belly. That's funny, I never had a c-section before. While paying close attention to this strange detail, I expectantly watched the doctor lift the blood-and-mucus covered body and announce "It's a girl! You have a daughter!" Now that's just plain wrong. My third baby was a boy. Where the f*ck's Mr. G? "You need to check that out again, doc," I told him while marveling at the sudden lightness in my body where the weight of a baby had been. How weird was that--to dream about having a baby girl when my third baby was definitely, most clearly and obviously a boy baby? Mr. D suggested it's a latent desire to have a daughter. As if a dream means anything.
What does disturb me is this: on about five different occasions in the past two months I've woken up in the middle of the night and not known where I was. It has literally taken me minutes to calm down and realize I am right where I belong. I cannot convey the sheer terror of these experiences. Rolling over, opening my eyes and seeing nothing that looks remotely familiar. Not even recognizing the layout of the room, which direction to head for a door in order to escape. I've lain perfectly still each time, barely breathing while my eyes adjust to the room and I strain to figure out where I am.
My fright compounds as I realize I am not alone and my heart races faster. Who is lying next to me? I clench up and think as hard as I can--how did I get here?
It's the most awful feeling to wake up and recognize nothing. I'd expect this strangeness if I'd been traveling much, but I really haven't. I woke up once in Disney World, which kind of freaked me out, but in retrospect made sense since I wasn't in my own bed. But to wake up utterly lost in a room that I've slept in for nearly 10 years is really weird.
Naturally I'm wondering why this is happening to me. Early-onset dementia? Sleeping really hard and jerking awake for no reason--maybe my REM cycles are out of whack. Change in diet? The last time it happened, I eventually got up and walked around the house. I returned to bed knowing where I was, but not believing I belonged there.
It's got to be something jerking me out of a deep sleep to make me so discombobulated. A sudden movement or sound perhaps.
Spill it, reader. Tell me I'm not alone--this has happened to other people, right?