My Dreams Make Your Dreams Want to Run. Far Away.

I had a dream last night in which I bought the New England Patriots while performing a high school pom-pom routine. Once I signed the papers, I waved the pom-pom into the air and an older man comes out of nowhere; which makes me think he’s the coach (since he’s wearing an orange hat), and in fact, was the coach. I had to fire someone. Right away. I fired whomever it was–work with me on this because my dream is sketchy–and madedreaminterpretation my first executive decision to get rid of the clowns to entertain the crowd and bring back the cheerleaders.

Hey you, Mr. Dream Interpreter? Would you mind telling me what the hell that was all about?

Oh, I left out one thing: I also had huge cucumbers growing in my yard. They were practically a foot long, extremely green and ready to be picked.

Don’t get all “sex crazed” on me with the cucumber reference.

I remember having a recurring dream when I was a small girl. I had a light green bedroom with a canopy bed. As I recall it, it would occur almost every night, but I’m sure it didn’t. I was shoved into a barrel looking up through the hole. My grandmother was standing over the barrel looking at me smiling, laughing, and spinning the crap out of this barrel. She spun it so fast, it could have been a toy top.

I screamed for her to stop, but she just kept on spinning the barrel and laughing. It was like she couldn’t hear me–or didn’t want to hear me.

When I would wake up, I would have a funny taste in my mouth; it was something I can’t even compare it to–even to this day.

BOOM! Interpret that.

In hindsight, I really think the whole spinning-of-the-barrel dream had to do with the vertigo I have now. But, I don’t claim to be a psychic, I don’t have an 800 hotline, nor do I play a psychic on television.

I’ve never had any other recurring dream other than that one. Before I met my husband, I would always have different dreams, but the same issue always crept up–I couldn’t find one of my shoes. Every dream I had been in a house unfamiliar to me, and I just kept climbing up stairs, wandering through musky, dusty old rooms looking for my other shoe. It didn’t matter what type of shoe it was. Sometimes it was a red shoe;  other times it was a sandal. I don’t recall Nike, or Prada having any involvement the dream sequences, so don’t ask for royalties.

These are my dreams, damn it.

Once I met my husband and married him the missing-of-the-shoe dream stopped. But, the fun was only beginning for my poor, unsuspecting husband.

Dave wakes up earlier than me. I have the luxury of sleeping deaf, so I don’t hear him waking up, letting the dogs out and showering to get ready for the day. I’m pretty much dead to the world; peacefully sleeping and/or snoring.



My husband rushes out from the bathroom and sees me air punching in bed. I’m swinging away, swearing my head off. He lightly touches my arm, and I fall back to sleep.

Of course, I’m not there. I have managed to miss the entire show; complete with profanity and physical violence because I was sleeping.  I missed the horrifying look on my husband’s face, which would have been priceless. I missed the frightened looks on my dogs faces as they all scrambled down the stairs when I started screaming at the top of my lungs.

I’ve missed some tender moments as we cuddle in bed and I forcefully punch Dave in the face. I will say that whenever I do make physical contact with something, it sort of wakes me up–like being semi-conscious. But, then I just fall back to sleep.

Dave is just looking at me. Staring–wondering how can he get rid of my body without anyone seeing him.

As a parting thought, here is one last dream for you to interpret:

My husband and I were in a hotel. It was very swank and contemporary on the inside with red and black accents; rich and dark.


Dave told me to meet him in room 103. As he rushed ahead of me, I tried to keep up, but started losing track of him down the many hallways we were walking through. As I started looking for the room number, the numbers weren’t in order. Room 103 was missing.

Where was room 103?

I had to ask a bell hop where it was and he showed me the location;  tucked away into an alcove–sort of where public bathrooms are typically located.

I opened up the door. I walked into the red room and saw my husband looking at me smiling. Oh, I forgot to mention he was banging an Asian chick from behind.

The End.

PS: This Asian chick even had a name, but I don’t remember what it was; neither does Dave. Dave doesn’t want to remember because I was mad at him when I woke up from my dream.








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