I haven't been sleeping very well the last couple of weeks because of the snot that seems to have taken up permanent residence in my head. And you know that mucous couple on that commercial? They're living in my lungs...though I think they may have split up and one of them is living in Sam's lungs. All this means I never really reach that restful REM sleep. Instead, I linger in that half-asleep state where your mind plays tricks on you and makes up dreams that you'd really rather not have.
The other day I dreamed I lost Sam. Not that he died...but that I LOST him. I couldn't find him. I have no idea when or where I misplaced my rather vocal three-and-a-half year old...I mean...how could that happen anyway? He's like my shadow, following me from room to room, refusing to let me do ANYTHING other than devote my full and complete attention to him and whatever activity he has chosen at the moment. Last night I simply HAD TO read a book to him when he demanded...not after my tv show was over as I had requested...NOW! There is no way I could lose this kid! But in my dream he was nowhere to be found. And I looked everywhere. Not frantically though...which disturbs me. I was almost resigned about the thought that I couldn't find him.
I won't discuss the dream I had about Alex the other day...after visiting the cemetery where the baby-coffin-size depression in the grass that still remains was all filled with water from the melting snow. I made a joke at the time...hope Alex likes to swim. Apparently my subconscious did not think I was so funny.
Last night, after the trip to the baby-filled grocery store, I dreamed that I had lost all reproductive capability whatsoever. No periods, no pregnancies, no nothing. It was as if my entire female designation had disappeared. I spent hours and hours trying to self-diagnose...with helpful comments from my boss tossed in for good measure...only to awaken to my son kicking me in the left kidney. (No, he still isn't sleeping in his own bed.)
I know it doesn't take Freud to figure out what my psyche is thinking about. I seem pretty straightforward when I read this stuff all typed up pretty and presented for review. What I don't get is why they make me feel all out-of-sorts. Bad dreams are just a part of this fun grieving stuff. I should be used to them. But they make me feel like a jigsaw puzzle all mixed up on the table. Like my pieces aren't quite in the right place.