Category Archives: Sleep Talking

Strangers and Death

Night before last, I had a dream. I was in my father’s house after he died. About a dozen people – strangers – showed up from some nameless organization that made monthly visits to make sure I was caring properly for my father, and that the house was clean. One woman wiped her hand across the paneling and gazed disgustedly at her palm. Angrily, I told her that my father had died, and they had no right to be there, and no right to judge me. Another woman said, “Too bad he put the house in his son’s name all those years ago. It would be in foreclosure by now, and I could get a good deal on this waterfront property.” That’s when I shouted, “Shut your mouth, or I’ll throw you out.” Then I heard my husband’s calm-talking-to-a-child voice saying, “Where ya going?” I was sitting up in bed, getting ready to throw her butt out. That’s what I was doing, but H stopped me. Lucky for her.

Dream Interpretation: Strangers

Strangers in your dreams may represent aspects of yourself that you have not yet recognized, or you are denying or repressing.
They may be people that you met in passing during the day but didn’t notice because they were not significant or important enough at the time.
They may be guides that have come to help you.
Strangers may also represent someone that acts strangely or something that is strange to you. Source: DreamCloud

Dream Interpretation: Death

According to Jeffrey Sumber, M.A., M.T.S., L.C.P.C., a psychotherapist and author in Chicagor, dreams about death often indicate “the symbolic ending of something, whether that’s a phase, a job or a relationship.” He suggests that a dream about death can also indicate attempts to resolve anxiety or anger directed toward the self. 

He continues…
“Like all dreams, death-related dreaming is an opportunity for introspection and growth.” A person can ask herself if she is anxious about something or angry at herself or someone else. “I can potentially learn that part of me is not at peace with the notion of my own death or the ending of something big in my life,” says Sumber. “I have the opportunity to look within, take stock of myself and make adjustments as needed.” Source: The Huffington Post
This dream interpretation is part of a Huffington Post series about dream interpretation. 

So what is this all about? A dozen people judging me, and finding me lacking. Ouch! Couldn’t be me judging myself and finding myself lacking, could it? Hmmm

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The Not so Friendly Skies

airplaneNight before last, I dreamed that I was on an airplane. My husband was sitting on one side of me, and another man was sitting on the other side. He and I had just bought new watches and were putting them on. I got the little stick part of the catch pushed through the hole in the band, but I could not get the tail tucked through the little loop that secures it. He helped me. I thought he was nice. Then he roughly told me to stand up and sing a song in a foreign langue. I told him I only spoke English. He said, “Fake it.” I knew he was trying to get me to make a distraction. He was up to no good. I believed he was a terrorist, and I sensed he would kill me if I didn’t comply. I stood in the middle of the aisle, and at the top of my lungs, I started singing Amazing Grace in a pitiful, garbled, fake foreign language. I woke myself and H while singing the song.

Interpretation: Singing
A dream about singing on stage or singing in front of an audience may suggest that you are wanting or needing someone to listen to you in waking life. Source: Dream Cloud

I found several interpretations of singing, but this one was the best fit. I’ve had several dreams resulting in similar interpretations.

Interpretation: Terrorist
* May represent feeling dominated, disempowered, threatened, afraid or intimated.
* May represent feelings and concerns about terrorism in the world.
* May symbolize a part of your shadow side with negative traits that you have yet to recognize or understand.
Source: Dream Cloud

Interpretation: Being on an Airplane
Dreams about airplanes, like dreams about all modes of transportation, may be addressing the path you are on in life, how fast you are moving and how much you are in control of your life. Consider what the plane is doing, who you are and where you are on the plane for further insight. Source: Dream Cloud 

Alien Egg Dream

Originally Written: November 17, 2015

I had this dream the same night I dreamed the bound-and-hanging-from-the-rafters nightmare. I didn’t remember it until H jogged my memory by telling me words that he’d caught while I was dreaming.

Two friends of mine were nurturing an egg that would eventually hatch an alien baby (not the kind that needs a passport). A third friend, Maria, was also there. The egg was half black and half white. A man appeared, and it became clear that he was going to adopt the baby alien. He had a request. He wanted to stay and help nurture the egg, he wanted to tell the egg everyday that he loved it. He wanted it to come into the world knowing it was loved. Maria was having none of that. She told him, “NO,” and started pushing him away. I was so mad at her that I picked up something big and threw it at her. When I woke, my pillow was across the room. Maria is one of the most nurturing people I know in my awake life.

DIL, DIL’s Mother, DIL’s Baby

Originally Written: September 4, 2015

Recently, I’m not remembering my dreams as often. Instead of waking H with screams, I wake him laughing. I seldom remember why I’m laughing, but it must be very funny. I do recall a dream from a few nights ago. I dreamed that my DIL was pregnant and delivered a baby boy. I was feeding him a carrot. My DIL’s mother said, “We don’t feed him carrots.” When I asked her what kind of food he should eat, she said, “Cheap food.” Isn’t that silly. Her mother is the sweetest lady, and would never feed a baby cheap food… Well, unless it was very nourishing. 🙂 My DIL breastfed all the kids. I guess that’s the cheapest food ever, and the most nourishing.

Soul Stealing

nightsstandOriginally Written: August 27, 2014

I think I was flying through the air when I woke around 4:30 am, or maybe I was on the floor, or maybe it was when my head hit that table in the photo above. I was dreaming. I was with an old friend, Howard, the husband of a close friend. Howard and Flora lived across the street from us and two houses down when we lived in Maryland.

There was a little boy. I don’t know if it was my son, my grandson or another child. Something was wrong with the boy. He was fretting and didn’t want to go to bed. Howard and I finally got him to bed, but I didn’t feel right about it. I soon heard the boy screaming in terror. There was an eerie glow emanating from his room, and the sound of what I somehow knew were mischievous, little creatures. The uneasy sound of their pernicious giggling and furtive scurrying about did not feel right. I knew they were of the male gender, but not men or boys. Something else. I knew intuitively that they had come for the little boy’s soul. I began running toward the door to the child’s room. When I got to the door, I launched myself into the room, screaming for them to get away from the little boy, and that’s when I woke, flying through the air, slamming my head into my bedside table. I felt something wet and thought I had spilled my water, but it was my elbow. It was bleeding.

H jumped out of bed. I was still screaming and disoriented. He got me up and off the floor. I still didn’t know which way was up. I had knocked the table about two or three feet from its original position. It’s a big, old drum table – solid wood and heavy. My head had moved it, my head along with the full weight of my body behind it.

What a night, and no, I’ve never read either of those books on the table. I don’t know where the bottom one came from, and the top one is one that my sister recommended, but she and I had completely different tastes in books. I kept telling myself that I’d read it one day for her, but I never did. So, there it sits. I can’t believe I didn’t knock the lamp over.

Leave-Taking

candlesticksOriginally Written: December 31,2013

Twenty thirteen was a disturbing year on many levels. I’m still in the process of shaking it off, leaving it behind and moving into a new year. If I were the superstitious sort, I would mention that notorious thirteen that followed the perfectly innocent twenty.

I’ve had a recurring nightmare about once a week since Dad died. It distinguishes itself from every other nightmare I’ve had by casting me as the aggressor and even a perpetrator of violence. Usually my unfriendly dreams find me running from a pursuer, cowering in fear or waiting for someone or something to break down my door. I’ve never tried to harm or use physical force against anyone in a dream before this. I even flail about now, sometimes hitting H or my nightstand. I wake him with furious, contentious screams. He grabs my hands to keep me from hitting him or hurting myself.

About a month or two before Dad died, I became suspicious of one of his caregivers. I suspected she was stealing from Dad because things seemed different in the basement, and then H noticed something fishy with the medications. Some were unaccounted for.

I noticed opened packages of household supplies and food I’d bought in bulk at Sam’s, and one or two items would be missing. Dad’s basement was full of antique tools, brass propellers, fishing tackle, etc. He had two lathes, and he made some wonderful things over the years. He made a beautiful set of brass candlesticks and gave them to me when we were first married. The basement was so full of stuff that it was difficult to assess, but my brother noticed many things were missing when he cleaned the basement after Dad’s passing.

All of the brass propellers were gone and so much more. We suspect her husband backed his truck up to the basement and helped himself when my brother was at work.

It was impossible to prove anything. So many people had access to the house, but I have no doubts. The entire thing came to a head just before the arrival of Dad’s shingles. During one of Dad’s hospitalizations, another of his caregivers came to me with her own suspicions and suggested that I remove all of the medications from the house until Dad returned home. I had never uttered a word to her about my own misgivings. She had no idea I suspected anything. H changed the locks, and we removed all medications.

We parted ways with the caregiver. In an act of rank audacity she actually tried to get us to take her back. Clearly, she will never use me for a reference, but there’s not much else I can do. She wasn’t from an agency, I don’t have proof. She now works at something far removed from caregiving. That is some consolation. And all of this came to light during an already horribly stressful time. My thoughts were somewhere else entirely.

Dad had some wonderful caregivers. This was the only one in seven years who had a shaky moral compass. It still rankles that she got away with such obscene behavior.

So, about once a week I throw her out of Dad’s house in a decidedly uncivil way. I’m always giving her a verbal dressing-down, and sometimes I actually shove and swipe at her to remove her from the house. That’s when H wakes me. During the day, I’m lured into believing I’ve taken leave of all that, but it comes back over and over at night. Methinks someone is harboring a teensy tiny bit of anger, but I believe the real problem is regret that I didn’t pursue it to the hilt at the time. Can you imagine Dad’s tiny living room full of police officers and hospice workers at the same time? Of course, she counted on us being overwhelmed.

Maybe that’s why I’m so Thirsty when I Wake

Originally Written: April 10, 2013

I barely slept at all on Sunday night. I woke every couple of hours until I finally gave up in the early hours of the morning. Last night I slept till 2:00 am, and here I am.

I started this new thing. I fall asleep, and then about an hour later I begin screaming. H wakes me or I wake myself. Sometimes I go back to sleep only to repeat the scream in a little while. Sometimes I remember what I was dreaming and sometimes I do not.

And my dreams!?! Oh, my dreams! Some of the people have been dead for years: my sister, my mother, my aunt, but that’s not the strange part. They’re all weird ages. My son could be three-years-old and my grandchildren could be five or six or seventeen. Now that just doesn’t work. In one dream I was a teenager, and in another my mother was a child and I was her mother. I’m not going to analyze that one.

And I talk…

and talk and talk. H tells me about it. I had a bad night a few nights ago. I woke around 3:00 AM and went back to bed at 5:00 AM. H said he could hear me talking the entire time he was in the bathroom getting ready to take a shower, and I was still grumbling when he finished.

Last night I dreamed that it was Christmas Eve, and I desperately needed some moisturizer. I must have been desperate if I was willing to go to a mall on Christmas Eve. I made H and my father take me to Macy’s to get it. It was only minutes before the store closed. They dropped me off at the opposite end of the mall. Why the opposite end of the mall? I don’t know. I sprinted down the length of the mall. I squeezed through the door just as a security guard was closing it, found the moisturizer, found the register and was just about to make the purchase when I woke, heart pounding.

I punish myself in my dreams. It’s unbelievable what is required of me. I’m always forced to carry out near impossible feats – often time sensitive – of tremendous skill, boldness or danger while something unimaginable weighs in the balance should I fail: an infectious disease will eradicate half the world’s population, Earth will run out of water, or House Hunters will be canceled. What? I like House Hunters.

There you go, internet. That’s my bag of woes tonight. It could be worse. We really could have a global water crisis. Oh, wait.