Dream A Little Dream

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I have been plagued by bizarre dreams of late.  I’m not sure why; I usually only have really strange, off-the-wall visits to Neverland when I’ve eaten something I shouldn’t too close to bedtime. With my recent rebirth of counting calories in and calories out, there have been no late night nibbles.

 Pizza? I have midget zombies chasing me through the streets of downtown LA.

 A cheeseburger? Every nun I ever made fun of behind her back appears with a detention pad in her hand with my name actually printed permanently on the “Name of Student” line. And there were a lot of Sisters who were always happy to have me catch the late bus after school.

So, these dreams of late seem to be of the “losing something” variety.

In one, I couldn’t find my mother in a shopping mall. I was my adult age and she was her age and we were shopping in a kids’ store for the grandchildren/great-grandchildren and she wandered off. Now, it doesn’t take Freud to figure out that I worry about my Mom, who will be 91 in July, going to her heavenly reward. But what troubles me is that in the dream I can vividly describe every shop I went into looking for her and finally wound up at Mall Security and had her paged. I mean, really?

Last night I dreamed I’d lost my love for perfect weather and palm trees and moved back to New Jersey. I know this will offend my friends and family in the Garden State, but I woke up yelling “No! No!” I was so relieved to find out I was in my little bedroom in Dana Point with the sun peeking through the shades that I literally jumped out of bed and ran to make sure that the Pacific Ocean was still out there. I am pleased to report it is despite the prediction of The Rapture non-event. I did, however, refrain from dashing out the door and kissing the first palm tree I saw.

I’ve mentioned this latest aberration in my sleep patterns to several friends, all of whom not only have a theory as to why this is occurring, but also a cure. Here are their comments:

“You’re anxious.” (Duh! ya think?) “Best way to take care of that is have a glass of warm milk before bed. It will relax you.” (Yuk. I don’t even like cold milk. Why would I heat it?)

“You’re nervous about something that you have to get done.” (Another even BIGGER “Duh!” I always have something that needs to get done!) “Have a shot of tequila right before you go to sleep.” (Yuk, again. I don’t like tequila, either. Unless it’s in a strawberry Margarita!)

“You must be unconciously worrying about something or other.” (C’mon, people. Even I can figure that out.) “Best, best thing to get rid of the dreams is to listen to Tony Bennett on your iPod when you get into bed.” (Now, I saw Tony Bennett on American Idol this week. His voice is not what it used to be and that’s okay, since he’s 85 years old. Not only do I not like milk and tequila, especially not mixed together, I have never really been a fan of Tony Bennett, either.)

MOTNSO (“More Often Than Not Significant Other”) has yet to weigh in on this whole problem. Knowing him he’ll probably suggest that he alone eats the pizza and cheeseburger and therefore take the fear of food-fueled fantasies from me. Is that sort of like being a “sin-eater” from the Medeival age?

Feel free to share your remedies for ridiculous dreams.

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