I had two disburbing dreams last night. You know, the kind that put a little funk over your mood even once you are up in the morning?
In the first one, Allan and I were at a reunion from our college, Harding University. It was fun to see people, even in my dreams, who I hadn't thought of in almost ten years. He and I were both talking to old school folks when I realized we had misplaced Connor. I began the search in a huge convention center area, trying to appear calm and dignified to my old peers, inside panicking in terror. I came across my mom who told me that she had seen Trinity riding a tram by herself. Allan had left her sleeping in the car, so I realized, in horror, that she must have woken up and began looking for us. I was overwhelmed with the terrible collection of fear and guilt! As a parent, a lost child is one of the worst possible scenarios to endure.
The second dream was short, but very disturbing. Allan was leading singing at PUMP, when mid-song he just stopped. He looked awake, like he was just trying to remember the next words to the song, but I knew something was really wrong. No one seemed to know what to do; they all just sat there, waiting uncomfortably for him to keep singing. I asked one of the men to take everyone outside, someone else to take care of our kids and another to call 911. I knew he was dead. I woke up hyperventilating and was unable to relax myself back to sleep.
Dreams are bizarre, aren't they? I am fascinated by what happens in the subconscious to produce these fascinating, disturbing, exciting movie shorts. Is it my fears coming forth? I can say, very confidently, that these do not express my desires! Maybe a good game of hide-and-seek or a story with Mickey Mouse will blow away the little dark cloud that joined me last night.
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