I've been suffering from allergies for the past week, bad. Real bad. You know when you wake up and feel like you had a pitcher of 'ritas the night before? Fuzzy, throbbing head? Cotton dry mouth? The need to chug a gallon of water? Yeah, that's me minus the party to go with it. Nothing like a hangover without the table-dancing and embarrassing cell-phone pictures to show for it. I've never had seasonal allergies quite to this extent; usually I'm an itchy eyes, few sniffles kinda gal. It's probably too late to do much about it this year, but next year at the onset I'm seeing someone about some more potent drugs than the standard OTC stuff which a) did not help with the congestion/breathing remotely, and b) made me feel as though I did chasers with my 'ritas.
I'm sure as a result of the completely ineffective pharms in addition to sleeping rather poorly in between post-nasal-drip coughing spells, I had two really weird dreams this week.
I open a door in a darkened house to discover that my mother has hung herself. I run and find my father, and we decide to wait until morning to make calls. At some point Bella wakes up -- she's in a room with me -- and after I explain what happened, she proclaims that she wants to see my mother's body. I agree, open the door, and my mother is in fact, not dead, and is berating me and my father for waiting until morning to make phone calls.
Wow. I'm telling you, this little vignette has so many layers we might as well spread guacamole on it and pass around a bag of chips. I'm actually not too hung up on the Bella part (she's been all about looking at dead birds before I dispose of them lately, and having small little discussions about death. Spring is chockablock with these lovely teaching moments), or the mother not dying part (OF COURSE we did it wrong! What's a mom dream without mom guilt?), but the initial part where she apparently killed herself? What is THAT about? Am I really thinking about my own mother here, or should we do the Jungian thing where everyone in the dream is really me? And if so, huh? OR, does this represent Motherhood, capital M? Am I wary of it's death? Am I killing it? Or is the message here about (some really fucked up) rebirth so to speak (it's just a flesh wound!)? Analysis welcome.
In dream number two, I remember the critical moments clearly, but the rest is very blurry around the edges:
I have a baby. Maddy. She dies. I believe this happens in a field at night. And a doctor informs me that she died before they could do whatever it is they needed to do, and ergo, I need to have another baby. And so I say, "fine," lock myself in a bathroom, by myself, and have another baby, who of course is Maddy. Who also dies, moments after birth right in my arms, but this time a bit more dramatically.
And that's all I remember, so I don't know if they got what they needed or not (I'm guessing no). I'm not sure if this is supposed to be telling me something (about future reproductive attempts?) or if it was just a standard issue deadbaby nightmare compliments of PTSD.
Needless to say, I'm off to try yet another [product placement] allergy medication, blow my nose, and hope these dreams turn into something involving David Beckham.