I've always had very vivid dreams and rather creepy, detailed nightmares. Way back in the day, when I first started blogging (cue Conan O'Brien: "in the year 2000..."- actually, I started in 2001, but whatever), we had a group blog of our dreams and nightmares. It was so interesting.
Incidentally, all of Alissa's closest friends are total bitches in her nightmares. It's true. She has, on occasion, dreamed that I, like, screamed at her to hurry up while she was trying to simultaneously change a tire on the side of road and resusitate a kitten or something. I'm making that particular dream scenario up, but we are so *mean* in her subconscious. I'm just saying.
Where was I going with this? Ah, yes. My weird dreams. I dream ALL THE TIME about injured animals. I have this recurring dream where I forget I was supposed to feed, like, an entire barn full of dogs whelping litters of puppies. I remember, like, three days after I was supposed to start caring for them, and I run in and find a bunch of hungry, miserable dogs with newborn puppies in failing health, and IT IS ALL MY FAULT. In every dream, it's almost always just about too late to fix it, but not quite. In last night's dream, there was only one dog, and it gave birth to gerbils. When I didn't show up for two days, the dog hid the baby gerbils in different stalls in the barn, and I could only find two. And of course, the gerbils were in failing health when I got there. I wake up right before I find it if it's okay or not.
The other night I had a really terrible nightmare about a creepy guy hanging around my apartment who hurt Bella. Once again, I showed up right in the nick of time. It was awful.
Overall, it's probably my brain's way of working out anxiety, maybe orrying about responsilibities..? Maybe it's a belated dream about the convict who was living downstairs? I don't know. He's gone now. A middle-aged couple lives there now. They fight a lot, but not loudly. That sounds strange, I know. Every time I'm doing laundry on the second floor- the machine is in a common area outside their door- I hear them fighting in Spanish. They aren't yelling, just speaking contemptuously to each other in above average voices, but seriously, it's every. single. time I'm doing laundry.