Nightmares

I usually have very vivid, odd dreams, but not often nightmares. Last week was lousy with them.

The first one I brought on by myself, though accidentally. I was looking through my picture archive on my computer and came across one of my first husband. In the months after I left him, before I moved out of the city altogether, I'd run into him occasionally. I always had nightmares after I ran into him. Given that, I had grounds to reasonably suspect that simply looking at his picture might bring the same unpleasant associations.

Part of me says I should delete all pictures of him, but another part of me finds it educational, in a "holy cow we're stupid when we're young" fashion, and as nightmarish as our marriage was, it served its purposes. Being married to a creepy, controlling sociopath taught me the many advantages to the previously-considered dull "nice guy."

Holy cow. I digress.

The second dream took place in a field. I was preparing the soil for planting and was hoeing away at the lumpy clay when I became aware that the field was crawling with snakes. (This is not the bit that makes it a nightmare- I really like snakes, find them fascinating.) There was one that was five feet long and coloured like a grossly over-sized earthworm. They were everywhere.

I bent over the hoe to break up the soil further, and felt the *snick* of tiny fangs as one snapped at my hand. I stood up, in my dream, and came to some decision, or reached some final inevitability. I bent down and chose a snake that I knew was poisonous, about two feet long and brightly coloured. Standing up again, and glancing off into the overcast gloom that hung over the field, I pressed the snake's fangs against my left forearm. The sharp icy spike of the fangs was soon eclipsed by the acidic burn of the venom that ate into my veins. I remember feeling relieved.

Creepy, huh?

The third nightmare is reoccurring. In this one, I am sitting on the front stoop, sun full on my face, sipping my morning coffee. The dew shines on the grass, the birds sing, and the neighborhood is peaceful and still. Suddenly, the peace is shattered with the piercing sound of spoiled children bickering; raised voices and snotty little whines that grate the silence to shards. I frown in annoyance, wanting their parents to straighten them the hell out so I can get back to enjoying the silence.

Then, with a sickening dismay, I realize the sounds are coming from my house. The irritatingly noisy and recalcitrant children are my problem to deal with, not somebody else's.

I can't seem to wake up from this one.