sleep betrayal

My dreams have become increasingly transparent. It makes me sad. I miss the days when I dreamt (I also miss the days of irregular conjugation. Did you know it's now supposed to be "dreamed?" Yech.) I was an old woman being chased by Hitler and an army of Nazis and I'd try to stop him by throwing explosive pineapples out of my one-person helicopter and I kept writing vague yet powerfully symbolic metaphoric one-liners on post-it notes to the other old women in the Nazi party warning them of impending doom. Those days are gone. Perhaps I'll buy some cran-raspberry juice and drink it right before going to bed. That always gave me weird dreams in the past.

Last night's dream didn't take place in any fantastic world but it did carry a lot of emotion. I was in some American town in my father and his wife's home. My dad was incredibly unstable, bordering on psychotic. My dad's wife wanted me to talk to him. I went into the bathroom, where he had trapped himself in the glass shower. He was fully clothed and had lost a lot of weight. When he saw me he started angrily screaming and yelling. He reached up to a rack on the wall which held a multitude of knives, blades and other sharp objects and took down a large razor blade. The whole time I just stood there, I knew exactly what was going to happen but couldn't see any way to stop it. He paused his screaming, look directly at me, yelled "Sacrifice is art!" and started slashing at his arm trying to cut off his hand. (I would never say that out loud but apparently I'd think it.)

It was later explained that the whole reason he basically went crazy had to do with my unborn brother that I had absorbed or killed or mutilated in some way or something. And then things went from there.

See? No flying. No super powers. No hot celebrity sex (though I don't really ever have those dreams). Just a lot of semi-subconscious guilt-shit cropping up.

I should probably call my dad. I need a vacation. And some imagination.