to sleep, perchance to not scare myself silly.

Most nights I'm pretty lucky. I'll go through months and months without ever remembering a dream, but then, I'll hit a patch where I remember every single one of them and I hate it. Because there will be one particular dream that will be horrifying or disturbing enough to catalogue itself in the annals of my mind and I'll get to remember it forever. Did I mention I never have any good dreams? Ever? Well, I don't. And I guess I didn't realize until recently, like oh today, that that's probably really abnormal. Like you're surprised something to do with me is abnormal? right. So the newest edition to the bad dream file, isn't horrifying on the surface, I guess, just really uncomfortable to ponder. I'll relate it so you can have a slice of my psyche to dissect.

My dream involves a friend of mine, who I know fairly well, we'll call him Joe. The dream begins with Joe and I just sort of sitting around doing nothing. And apparently I just got tired of being alone, of being cold on the inside, because when his hands caught my face and he kissed me, it got no restraint from me. We broke off with an awkward sort of pause, and then the wandering hands came into play, and we both decided to not care about the consequences. (No this isn't a wet dream, but yes things progressed from there) And I woke up, in the dream, wondering what the fuck was I thinking, which isn't all that unusual for me, especially in matters having to deal with sex. And time passed in that lovely hazy dream way, that I wish I could bring into real life. And weeks down the road, I end up pregnant.

Yeah, you read that right, pregnant. I was surprised too, for many reasons. Not the least of which is that I can't have children. And so, I go to him and present it hypothetically, what would he do if A happened? And he answers, and then sort of blinks and says, hypothetically, and then "oh shit". Yeah me too, buddy. And then it's all about marriage and raising a child and just building a life. Just sticking together, until one of us decides to leave, most likely for someone else. Giving it the old college try I guess. The next thing I know, I'm moving into his house, and we're going to become the Cleavers. After then things get a little fuzzy.

Now this might not seem so freaky to you, but it disturbs me on so many levels I can't even comprehend them all. And even with all my freud, and jung, and vision interpretations, I don't want to touch this one.

Maybe my subconscious is trying to tell me I'm really heterosexual with frustrated mothering instincts.

And that in itself, is creepy.