'Dog'-gone It.

Last night, I dreamt I had a dog in my bedroom and he lived in a kennel under my bed. Every once and a while I'd peek down at him and he'd look back unaffected. He was a good a little dream doggy.

This little exchange went on for quite some time. Months, I'd wager, in dreamland. Until one day I realized something..

My dog had been living under my bed for a very long time now and not once had I taken him out. Not to play, not to eat, nothing. Then I came to another terrible realization.

I had never taken him out to go potty.

Terrified, I slowly pulled his box away from the wall and opened the door, fully expecting to find six month's worth of turds piled in the corner. In preparation, I had somehow fashioned gloves out of old Macey's plastic bags in an effort to shield myself from the impending nastiness.

Tilting my head away so as to avoid the smell, time slowed as my pooch stepped from the cage to reveal...

a stack of old books.

Confused, I made a closer inspection.
Sure enough, there were no feces to be found. Only a random assortment of antique looking novels. And that is where the dream ended.

This, people, is why I prefer not to dream.

Apparently my subconscious is bat-sh**-crazy and has no business being given free rein to create such atrocities.

The BF insists that dreaming is the greatest thing ever. Almost every night, his fantastical brain sends him on adventures of epic proportions.
And he always emerges victorious.

I, on the other hand, very rarely dream as I've mentioned before.
But when I do, it always leaves me slightly disturbed and utterly confused.

When I told the BF about my dream doggy and the imaginary poop pile, he offered this interpretation: "Well, you see me as something to take care of and you are worried that I will be messy. But really you are going to gain a lot of knowledge from the experience."

Would anyone else like to join me in a round of applause for this brilliantly succinct explanation?? I laughed for ten minutes straight after reading it. Only the BF could take such nonsense and create a fairly logical explanation.

Don't get me wrong. I'm not saying that I think of the BF as a dog (which I loved despite his supposed filthiness in the dream, mind you) who will inevitably make a mess that I will be forced to clean up. Nor am I saying turds can magically change into books of wisdom. It would be ridiculous to believe any of that.

But oh. My subconscious does.

Dream On.

I don't know what it is lately, but I have been having a lot of strange dreams...

What's equally strange is that I've been dreaming at all. I can't remember dreaming for the longest time, at least since I moved out after high school.

Somehow, a mixture of spending a lot of time sleeping at home to be with visiting siblings/their families and getting more than six hours of sleep per night has equated to some curious curiousness.

But one thing always stays the same.
Without fail, my mom is always the villain in my dreams.

Don't ask me why this happens? And believe me, she has. Adamantly.
I have no idea.

I mean, she didn't beat me as a child, she always made sure I ate my vegetables and I've only seen her angry on two occasions.

FYI. If you would like to avoid the 'wrath of Mom', never EVER miss the bus and never EVER become a mosquito.

All I know is that when I wake up crying, it's because mother dearest is making me move to Japan.

Maybe there is some sort of subconscious reason why this keeps happening?... I think I shall consult the 'source of all knowledge' for an answer: Google.

According to online dream dictionaries, when a woman dreams of her mother it signifies pleasant duties and connubial bliss.

So am I to take from this when I dream of an evil mother, it signifies unpleasant duties and un-wedded misery?...

I don't like this interpretation.
No I don't.