Dream Weaver

Dreams are funny things. We sleep but our brains stay active. Various things from the day pop up in the strangest contexts. Things we anticipate dread or just have to do also have a way of weaving into the stories of our subconscious. Many people cannot remember their dreams, which is unfortunate. Dreams are very entertaining and very instructive.

My husband, mother, siblings and college roommates can all attest to my wild dreams. I used to scream in the middle of the night, generally because something was falling on me. Never figured that out, but it happened all the time. One night I actually grabbed my sleeping husband and flung him to the other side of the bed because I thought a telephone pole was falling on us. I woke up, realized it was just a dream and went right back to sleep. He stayed wide-awake for the rest of the night, and slept with one eye opened for several nights after that. Those freak-outs stopped about 20 years ago. They never bothered me, but anyone who ever shared a room with me will recall those nights with wide eyes.

These days my dreams are like my life. I am running as fast as I can and not getting anywhere. Last night was a good example. I dreamed it was morning and I was trying to get Maggie ready for school and out the door. (I have written about my morning ritual before. Suffice it to say it is a ridiculous flurry of activity over a 90-minute period.) In real life, we go out the back door and down the elevator/lift outside, into the back yard and snake our way through a junk filled basement/garage to the front of the house. This is a distance of about 15 feet vertically and less than 50 feet horizontally, but it is slow going. Once in the chair, it is at least three minute before we get outside to the front of the house. In my dream, the bus was outside waiting for us and to save time I was going to go out the front door. Never mind the 12 steep stairs, I had to get outside or Maggie would miss the bus. The stair issue was never resolved or even addressed in the dream because I could not get the door opened.

In the dream, the front door would open only a couple of inches because Maggie’s supplies were in the hallway blocking the door. Maggie’s supplies come monthly from various medical supply companies and they take up a lot of room in a crowded house. The nine cases of liquid food next to the three huge boxes of diapers, catheters, under pads and the respiratory supplies would completely fill my hallway if I let them. We try to get them put away as quickly as possible, some in her room and the vast majority in the (junk-filled) basement. Try as I would I could not get the door opened to get Maggie to school. Steve and the boys were frantically trying to get them out of the way, but the bus driver drove away while I watched, helpless, from behind the boxes.

I woke up with a start and jumped out of bed to get the morning ritual underway. It went smoothly. The rain stopped long enough to get her down the elevator and we were outside 10 minutes before the bus arrived. Maggie laughed at the dog chasing the toy I was tossing. All quiet on the Western Front.

No in-depth dream analysis necessary here. I get it. I am trapped in the house because of Maggie. And the walls are starting to close in. That bugs me, of course, but I accepted it a long time ago. The troubling thing about this dream was Maggie being stuck too. I think it was a combination of the rain and the knowledge that school will be out after Friday. It is difficult to get her out of the house in the cold rainy weather and she gets extremely bored if she does not go out. I have to figure out ways to keep her entertained over the break. Good thing the boys are coming home. That will help.