It's been a while since I've mentioned nightmares on here, but that doesn't mean I haven't been having them. Every Single Night. They don't fail me. Since we moved to this house last April, I've been imagining that animals from the zoo down the street have broken out and stormed into my house in the middle of the night. Every night, my job is to figure out how to save my family. I always manage to be so courageous and spry in my dreams; I'd sprint out of bed and grab my phone while slamming the bedroom door (because it gets stuck) and run into Oliver's room, also slamming that door (because it also gets stuck). I would then call Shane, and tell him not to open the door because there is a tiger in our house and to please climb out the window and meet Oliver and me. It's ridiculous, I know. What would you do? It's almost been a year since these nightmares have started. They don't always end happily. Sometimes, the animals make it into Oliver's room first and I wake up to him screaming through the monitor. Those nights are the hardest and I rarely am able to fall back asleep. Sometimes, I hear the growl but forget that I have a baby and just lock myself and Shane in our bedroom and again, we hear the animals tearing our baby apart. I'm shaking just thinking about it. I've gotten used to them, mostly. I can recognize right away that they are nightmares and that when I wake up, all will be dandy and Oliver will be sleeping either in between us in our bed, or he will be the one waking me up by sweetly talking to himself in his crib.
A few years ago, when I would religiously read The Walking Dead and wait so impatiently for the next comic to come out, I started to play Zombie Survival. It was the same idea: What Would Norma Do? I was working overnight at a hotel during these games so it was a matter of getting to the basement where the food and water were sitting (vending machines, telephone, couch). I imagine that's why I am planning out the attack of a violent feline. Zombie Survival helped train me for my nightmares.
My nightmares don't always involve zoo animals; they have been more realistic. Our car raging down the side of a mountain on our way to visit family in Mexico, Oliver and I getting struck by a truck on one of our walks, Oliver's curtains getting a ray of sunshine that starts a fire... In every nightmare I lose my baby.
Last night was different. Last night's nightmare involved the supernatural, of which I used to believe in but have recently made peace with apathy. The idea is still horrific, but I don't have that stress anymore. Not really.
In this dream, I hear Oliver screaming and crying so I run over to him only to find him scratching himself so hard and so slow that he is gushing out blood. I move his hand away from him and take him to clean him up and he starts doing it again. I realize that he isn't doing it, that something else is taking his hand and doing it. What the hell am I supposed to do with this? He is being sliced up before my eyes and I can't stop it. So I call my mom - because she is Mexican and I am extremely racist in my dreams - all Mexicans believe in spirits and have little tricks to get rid of them. My mom tells me to take my ogre hair (WHAT) and bake it in the oven (WHAT). So I do, and Oliver's wounds disappear. He is still crying, because it happened, but now the proof is gone. I woke up to him hitting me in the face and saying, "aw draw draw draw draw." I couldn't go back to sleep.
Dreams don't mean anything. I won't get money if I dream about fish. Nobody is going to die if I dream about teeth. But they can make you lose sleep and slowly go crazy from the lack of.