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2001-07-18 / 9:52 p.m. ~My overworked subconscious, and a cockroach~
My subconscious mind is working overtime - I'm dreaming so much I wake up tired. Could be hormones, could be I'm too hot under my comforter, maybe it was the half bag of Cool Ranch Doritos I ate for dinner, maybe it was Gladys bringing that cockroach into the bedroom in the middle of the night (it's amazing that a cockroach will still run even after its innards have been smooshed out in a grand spray), I don't know, but I want to sleep...perchance to NOT dream, thank you. Night before last I lay in bed watching Home and Garden Television (HGTV), a program about Country decorating, narrated by a woman who sounded as if she were drunk, or at the very least a victim of stroke paralysis - later I realized it was Mary Emmerling, wonderful Country decorating guru!! Mary, I'm sorry, but get someone else to do the talking, please. So, I'm lying there, watching this couple discuss their motivations behind decorating their log cabin the way they did - well, the woman did all the talking - and it's awfully busy, this log cagin, filled with more stuff than I have, more baubles and bibelots, but did I have to go and dream that "the long term relationship" and I set up house again? The one from 10 years ago?! In the dream we have this great house, sort of log cabin-y, and he's set it all up, showing me where he's put everything in the kitchen, and it's all so perfect, and we have a fire going in the fireplace, and I love this place.....but, in reality, he is SO gone from my life. Why won't my wacky subconscious let go already? Then, last night, in between throwing off covers and saving cockroaches from cat torture, I dream of him again. This time I'm waking him up so we can have sex. Men are supposed to like that, right? He didn't appreciate it enough though. I had to totally seduce him, make him realize what was going on, that we were going to have sex, like it or not - not rape, not exactly, he was willing, finally, but it was my decision. I can understand falling asleep with the TV on and dreaming about what I've just seen, but why "him"? And, why did I dream of "him" again last night? It was vivid too.... So, yeah, we haven't had a cockroach around in maybe a year or more - pretty good for an apartment complex - so when Gladys comes running into the bedroom with the thing in her mouth, making that guttural sound like, well, like she's got a cockroach in her mouth, I knew she must have a bug. I wasn't expecting that kind of bug though. Cockroaches are hardy, to say the least, and I have a hard time killing them. Usually Gladys makes it easy, disables them before I get to them, tears off a leg or two, or three, quite by accident too, but they have a hard time moving around once their legs are gone. This is when I take pity on them and flush away, figuring drowning will be the final kiss of death. Enough suffering, enough surviving only for this end. But, as I say, it had been quite a while since I'd seen one, knew I didn't want to pick it up, as it would then no doubt try to crawl away, on me! True, it was already minus at least one leg, which I could see lying on the carpet, so I went for it, wadded up toilet paper in hand. Smoosh! Squoooosh! Oops, that's not exactly what I meant to do, that doesn't kill these things, it only gooshes all their insides everywhere, splat, spray, like a bug juice sneeze or something! And the damned thing ran! How is this possible? This is all at around, oh, I don't know, maybe 3:00 or so this morning, I feel nauseous, Gladys woke me up, I'm dreaming too much already, now this, this indestructable otherworldly survivor creature, guts sprayed across the floor, running under the area rug. And Gladys thinks this is the best time ever! Almost better than that flying beetle which kept flinging itself at the ceiling, then crashing to the floor, kamikaze-style. Norma watches from the bed, forearms folded in front of her. "Harrumph", she seems to be saying, "That Gladys, what a nut". Mercy killing, the roach spirals its way downward, through the toilet water, into the sewer system, hopefully to its final resting place. And I go back to sleep, but not to sleep, to dream. To dream of "him", again, like a bug which won't flush, but keeps coming back up to the surface to bite me on my ass! Cost of the War in Iraq
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