The Stuff Dreams Are Made Of

For years I have had a recurring dream, nightmare, whatever you want to call it. I am in a house, it is not always the same house in every dream, but it always an interesting house where I want to be and want to feel safe. In this house there is always a large window or door that, for some reason, I cannot properly close or manage to lock, and there is some undefined danger ‘out there’ that makes me sure I very much need that door or window to be locked. I spend the whole dream working on locking the door or window while the sense of unease and danger mounts and I become more and more frantic about getting that thing closed and locked until I finally wake up and find myself safe in the real world again.

Do you remember the book, The Voyage of the Dawn Treader from the Chronicles of Narnia? Do you remember the island where dreams come true? People thought they wanted to go there, because when you think about a place where dreams come true you are thinking about your personal wishes and deepest desires being fulfilled. This island, however, is not like that. This island is the place where your REAL dreams come true, the creatures and emotions that inhabit your nightmares come to life. It is not a place where you would want to find yourself marooned.

Today, I think I have found myself on my own island of dreams. This morning when I went to let Roscoe out, I went out the back sliding glass door because I was still in my pajamas since we were out really late at the home of some friends last night and we slept in this morning, but the dog still needed to attend to his morning business, so I just thought I’d slip out back where the chances of being seen in my pajamas were slim to none. Anyway, when I undid the three locks on that sliding glass door, essentially a large window, and tried to slide it open, it began falling toward me. The top of this door that is essentially a large window (notice it combines both elements of my dream just so I cannot possibly miss the connection) is off the track and I don’t know how to fix it, and it’s heavy. I leaned it over and let Roscoe out and realized I have entered the heart of darkness of my own imagining. I feel like there ought to be eerie music and an ominous voice over saying, “…You’ve just crossed over into….the Twilight Zone.”

My son sleeps downstairs, and I started wondering if this door has been unsafe since the last time it was opened, and that bothers me a lot. My Facebook friends may remember the day I mentioned that there were policemen out back several times and how nervous I was when one asked if I’d seen someone walking back there who looked like they didn't belong. You may also remember the refrigerator door incident.

I am not loving this apartment. The office will be receiving a call this morning, and I am glad Drew got home yesterday and can probably reset the door until the maintenance people can get here to look at it.

Somebody pinch me so I can wake up….