Welcome To My Bed

What I think about when I fall out of a dream crying not-unhappy tears.

I am plagued by deja vu. I have seen so many scenes of my life before they've taken place, though thankfully, all of my favorites were originals when they happened and never got repeated in that hazy, distracting "I've been here" way. Which is what makes the dreams lately so scary. Jericha and I are becoming more and more sure that our apartment is the center for some bizarre psychic energy, a power that is not necessarily malignant, but one that is far too intense to be taken lightly. All of our dreams lately have been proof of this. Even the most outlandish, emotionally disturbing ones have been finding a way to come true. I am bitten over and over again in the ankles by snakes, and I know exactly why as their teeth are tenderly pulled out and I am returned to a lover's bed. I am the fastest runner on a country road, I am dancing on the edge of a room with no floor in the center, meeting and re-meeting all the loves that have moved through my life and they tell me things, but not whole things. Even in the broken truth, there are kernels of what is to come. This afternoon, my sleep was full of endless lines, unsatisfied people, so many happy "hello"s I forced out of my teeth mirroring my day at work. And then it shifted. Someone I am sure hates me came back as a character in a reoccurring chase. Someone I am not sure at all about was in a house along the way with some tender surprise I am still trying to make sense of. Always, there are books, animals, objects from my life that make sense but do not. I do not speak this language. I need to know how to find what is being told here. Never have I felt such an urgency upon waking to parce my own thoughts, to ask questions of those that have acted with me and on me in my subconscious, to understand what so many would write off as absolute gibberish nonsense. This is all so deeply unsettling. And of course, tomorrow is Halloween.