Dreams and Paranoia

I’m not counting this as a real post, because it’s 2:30 in the morning and I don’t have the presence of mind to draft anything decent, but it feels worth it to mention the dreams I’ve been having since I started taking the pain meds. These fucking dreams, man. I’ve never been a sound sleeper, and most of my dreams have always been of the “I remember something crazy happened, but it slipped away as soon as I woke up” variety; occasionally I might remember one clearly but the ones that stick tend to be the most mundane — I still have really distinct images of a dream I had in high school where I spent untold dream-hours just doing laundry. Like, SO MUCH laundry. That’s the kind of wacky nighttime adventure that sticks with me. This week, though, every time I wake up (from my multiple naps per day) my dreams have been resonating so impossibly vividly that they feel like memories of actual events. This morning I woke up in the middle of an argument with Larry David over a parking space. The other night the dog and I were having a full-on conversation; I desperately wish I had written down the script to that one. Earlier tonight I had a dream-argument with Cody, and it seemed so real that I woke up to keep fighting with him only to realize he wasn’t home at all. But just now I dreamed, so clearly, so distinctly, that the bedroom door creaked open and someone walked in, and, after confirming that Cody is still on his way home and not currently in the house I’m now sitting wide awake with the light on at nearly 3 in the morning and I’m freaking terrified. And I’m so, so tired.

Dreams and Paranoia