I had a fairly average adult dream—slightly confusing, slightly morose—about scraping paint off the floor of some old woman’s movie rental shop, in order to prepare it for a new paint coat.
then i woke up too early on an overcast sunday morning, stumbled out of bed, blearily ate breakfast and crashed back into bed. i fell asleep again, instantly, and proceeded to have the absolute worst dream of my life as the memory of my previous dream dovetailed into a nightmare.
i was just as tired as i had been when i was awake, but for some reason my tiredness seemed to be coupled with crippling stupidity in the dream. i kept typing gibberish words instead of the word i meant to type, and i kept forgetting things i should’ve remembered, and making really stupid decisions on handling day-to-day problems that, when i would stop and think about them afterwards, didn’t really make sense.
and it turned out, in this dream, that there was a chemical in the paint that had been banned a long time ago. it turned out i was exposed to it when i was scraping it up in the other dream—which, in this second dream, i believed to have happened yesterday—and i probably had brain damage that would last me up to through years before it went away, if it went away at all.
this nightmare was set today, at about the same time, in my house, with the same weather. it was a dedicated facsimile of my actual waking life.
i was completely freaking out in every conceivable way. i was so stressed out i couldn’t breathe any more. i was stumbling around my early sunday activities in a hamfisted, incompetent stupor, and my panic and dread was rising higher and higher. but nobody would understand why this was making me so upset. people were just annoyed that i was being so dramatic about this. but all i could think was like “but, my stories! my characters! how can i tell the stories now! how can i do this?!”
i was plummeting deeper into despair, and then i finally woke up.
for a moment i was freaked out, still. just in case the paint was actually toxic. but then i remembered that the thing with the paint was ALSO A DREAM. one that i just had earlier.
and i was so relieved in a way that i find very hard to put into words. i spent the next fifteen minutes just constantly thanking god that it was all a dream, not out of some obligation but because i was so HAPPY that it wasn’t real! like. you guys cannot even imagine how happy i was to realize that the thing with painting the old lady’s shop was also a dream. just wow. all i really want to do, see, is tell stories—god willing—and that nightmare was the meticulously rendered, horrifyingly mundane realization of that fear.
wwwoooooww. wow. the end.
thank god. thank you god so much.