I have been having the strangest dreams the last few days. Before you ask: No, I am not pregnant. No, I have not been drunk when I fell asleep. No, I have not been eating spicy Mexican, Korean, or Russian food. No, I am not reading horror stories or watching scary movies until all hours. No, I have no idea why these are here right now, I am sure it is just a "thing".
The worst and best parts about the dreams are that while I am in them, I know that I am in them, and can't stop them anyway. It is not a Dreamscape-Inception-What Dreams May Come kinda feeling either. These feel real right up until something weird (as always happens in dreams) happens, and then I know, long before waking up, that I am in a dream, and I just need to ride it out.
I got to pick out fresh fruit and vegetables at the farmer's market with my children's father. He talked me into buying (and I assume agreeing to having them cooked) brussel sprouts. I hate brussel sprouts. This is not a knock to brussel sprout fans, you can eat them to your heart's content. It was just that not only would I never have purchased them or cooked them for any reason, the fact that it was for my children's father was the first indication that this was a dream. I never, not once in the entire time we were together, did I ever cook the nasty mini green cabbagey things. Not even when he asked. I don't like them THAT much. I suppose I could have been a dutiful wife about it, and just sucked up my disgust, but it was a small line, in a desert full of sandy lines, that I would not cross. The giving in in the dream seemed small in my foggy bedhead remembrance, like "So what, he could buy brussel sprouts if he wants them, what's it to me?" The dream ended when we got into an argument about the size of zucchini I was fondling. By the time this vegetable was in my hands, I already knew it was a dream, and was actually controlling it a bit, enjoying that I could piss him off with such a small amount of innuendo. It felt good.
I also got offered a job that would have allowed me to work in a giant office filled with cushions and ergonomic chairs and not a bit of technology in site. I would be able to wear jeans to work every day, and massage therapists would come and rub the soles of my always barefoot feet. The floors were heated, and we left our shoes at the door. It would have been divine. All I needed to have this be my new permanent job, what ever it was that I would be doing in the spa like luxury, was get my first ex husband to deliver a roll of postage stamps to the king of France by COB on Thursday. Yeah, that was when the I was sure this was a dream. They handed my ex the tickets, the directions, the stamps, and a bag full of money for whatever expenses he would need. I knew, even in the dream, that this was an unrealistic expectation for him. He would not be able to do it. I kissed him in the dream, sort of a good bye kiss, and then, still in control of the dream, put my shoes on and walked out the door. I remember smiling.
The last clear dream I can remember had my kids and I sliding over and over and over again in an endless baseball field full of second bases. We were laughing and having the best time. It started to rain (a given for baseball season), and kept on playing. Haysten scraped his knee, and when he let me look at it without fussing, I knew it was a dream. Instead of cleaning the wound, I looked to the sky and wished for the rain to become marshmallow fluff, which it promptly did, and we just started sliding again. Mariah was our voice of reason. She took our clothes to the laundromat, conveniently located in the middle of the field, pointing out that the rain would come back eventually and we could all take showers then. It did not seem to matter that we were naked, with spectators.
I am hoping for a vivid dream tonight, too. I like them. They all seemed happy, if not thought-provokingly weird. I figure the messages are clear: that my children's father is controlling, but I can give him little victories; that my ex is unreliable but that I am fine without him; and that my kids and I are transparent to the world in our happiness, and having a great time doing it. I like these messages. They seem to validate for me what I already know about myself. But, if I have a dream about chocolate pudding and Pierce Brosnan, I won't complain about that either.
