As much as we deeply adore it, Wes and I may have to stop watching CSI: Anything for a while. I’ve been having the most grotesque nightmares the past couple of weeks and a lot of my gruesome inspiration comes from the show. It’s amazing how your brain can become a repository for everything you fill it with.
I know stress is a large part of the reason for these recent nightmares. I have a long history with bad dreams and they always seem to get more frequent when I’m stressed or anxious. Some of the nightmares are silly (I once woke up panicky and gasping because I’d dreamed that Wes and I had had a baby and people were coming over to see the baby and our house was a mess) and some are too disturbing to write about.
My very first nightmare was about the Terminator. I dreamed I was bowling with a group of people and then the Terminator came in, killed my friends, and chased me into the parking lot. I hid under a car and the Terminator plucked off his head, bowled it under the car I was hiding beneath, and the head detonated and I exploded.
That was when I learned about lucid dreaming and starting waking myself up during bad dreams. Unfortunately, I’ve been having so many of these lately that I find myself awake more often than not during the night. Hopefully I’ll figure out a way to alleviate some of this stress and anxiety and then the nightmares will stop. One can only hope.
I had a funny thought while plotting out this post, though. I was thinking about how my mind has always been tuned to the macabre side of things. For example, up until I was about 14 years old my favorite author was Edgar Allen Poe. When my mother took me shopping for back to school clothes for the 6th grade everything I picked out was black. I saw “The Nightmare Before Christmas” when it first came out in theatres (I was 8 years old) and I thought it was hilarious. The song about kidnapping Santa Claus was my favorite and I ran around the house singing it until my Dad asked that I stop because it was disturbing him (imagine an 8 year old running around gleefully singing “kidnap the sandy claws, throw him in a box. Bury him for ninety years, then see if he talks”).
This was before it was cool for the edgy kids to like Jack Skellington and it was certainly before wearing all black made you “goth”. Now that I think of it, Angelina Jolie is totally aping my 6th grade style with her all-black-all-the-time ensembles. The only thing I was missing back then were the gigantic sunglasses and that, my friends, is because when you’re anyone other than a famous person wearing humongous sunglasses only makes you look like an insect.