Living the Dream

In general, I don’t remember my dreams, but when I do it’s typically because I have woken into them and start acting them out.

My earliest memories of these took place at the shack. I’m also told there was a sleepwalking incident where I made my way out to the end of the dock, stood for a while, then went back to bed. I digress, as that is one, I don’t remember.

The ones I do remember. I had been out jacking with my mom. Jacking is known as eeling in some circles. You go out after dark in a small boat (we used sharpies – as the flat bottom allowed access to more places) on low tide looking for eels. When you see one, you spear it and toss it in the boat. I didn’t catch anything and I was so scared of the eels slithering up my pant leg that I sat with my knees tucked up under me so they couldn’t get in. Curled up in the top bunk, I must have been dreaming about the adventure as I called out to my mom with great enthusiasm, I bolted upright. Sure enough, I hit something – my head on the ceiling.

After another jacking adventure. I became distinctly aware that my brother Joe had left me in the sharpie. It was pitch dark so I was afraid to leave the boat and work my way up to the house. I whispered after Joe to come back, as I whispered, I reached out my hand, touching the wall. It took a minute but ultimately, I realized I was in bed not in the boat.

Then there was the time I was working on the play. I was sitting on something and was asked to move as it needed to be put out on stage. As I was attempting to slip off it, it began to rise and rise. When I hit the floor I woke up, realizing it was just a dream. And the sensation of the floor slipping away was just because the bed I slept in was high off the floor. Like a top bunk.

Most of the times I wake in a dream it is fairly mundane. I’ve lost count of the number of times I’ve got up believing it was morning. I’ll brush my teeth and even head downstairs for coffee, I have gotten as far as drinking a cup before checking the clock and realizing what has occurred. I have made it part of my morning routine to check the clock. Most of the time I remember before leaving the bedroom.

I’m sure my husband’s favorite are the ones that include screaming. I can scream with squat. When I try it comes out a squeak. It is not uncommon for me to decide I need to practice screaming in a dream. It doesn’t always wake my husband, but it does often enough that it is a running joke. Each of these ties to a legacy moment.

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