Tuesday, September 20, 2011


My pain pill only covers me for six hours, so no matter how I time it, every night there comes a time when it wears off when I'm asleep and I wake up in discomfort.

And every night I recall the gruesome nightmare I was having right before my eyes open.

They all have to do with my helplessness in a rescue situation, and I conclude that in dream symbolism the one I'm trying unsuccessfully to save from harm is ME. My subconscious is saying, "Wake up and take the damn pain pill."

The worst dream had me saving a tortoise shell cat and a black and white dog from the Chicago River, only to have them race into Wells Street traffic and get squished.

Another had me searching for my mother, who had slipped away from me in a crowd, and I knew she'd never be able to figure out how to get home on public transit without me.

And tonight, the one that awakened with a start in time for this latest dose, had me all miserable and panicked because I was in love with Charlie Sheen. I am not kidding! The codependent's Mission: Impossible. Even when I'm asleep, I crack me up.


  1. That's it, no more Two and a Half Men for you before bed.

  2. I've been having weird dreams this week, too. Nothing memorable, just weird.


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