Bad Dreams

This is my psyche self-portrait. Because based on the dreams I've been having lately, I am loony tunes. On the outside I am trying to hold together a crazy amount of stress and chaos, despite my Martha Stewart home interior. This past weekend was our first open house and while we had plenty of traffic and a few folks who showed up multiple times, we don't have any offers yet. Mind you, we've been on the market for four days so my discouragement is very premature. And our awesome super agent is not concerned at all. Nonetheless my anxiety about the sale of our house and my ability to keep it immaculate and show it with an hour's notice, is clearly starting to have an effect on the ole subconscious.

Two nights ago I dreamed that someone broke into our house. A large man with unusually short arms. More like flippers actually. Mr. Rosen beat the crap out of him with a filled water bottle. But we were still devastated by the damage this might cause to our property value.

And last night, I was meant to perform in front of a giant audience. Sing, to be precise. Something I have actually done before, though not for quite a while. There was a particular theme to the performance which I can't recall right now but I wasn't to go on until maybe fourth or fifth and everyone before me was Broadway quality theatricality with costumes, make-up and a chorus of back-up talent. It was so obvious I was the impostor. And I hadn't even decided on the song, though I was pretty sure it would be the Bonnie Raitt song I Can't Make You Love Me, except I couldn't remember the second half of the chorus.

Turn down the lights.
Turn down the bed.
Turn down these voices,
Inside my head. 

That's about right. 
I need a drink, and the pregnancy tea is not doing it for me.

Scared sleepless

Last night I went to sleep right after I put the kids to bed which was around 9:30. I've been staying up late the last few days watching episodes of Arrested Development to fill the void caused when Lost went on hiatus in May. Aside from being incredibly funny and situated right near where I grew up in southern California, it is especially satisfying for those of us who always loved the Jason Bateman character on Silver Spoons. Way more than the Ricky Schroeder character. Finally, a little love for the wise ass best friend.

So of course I woke up at 2:00 am because what on earth would I possibly do with eight, dare I suggest nine, consecutive hours of sleep. That would be so indulgent. I was warm so I opened the window. And then, as though along with the night breeze, my head started to fill with all kinds of horrible thoughts namely about some awful monster breaking into our home (through the open windows) and doing terrible things to my kids. I won't freak you out with the details but let's just say I might have a future writing horror movies. My friend Ali says it's from watching too much crime television and she might be right. Although who needs crime TV when you can just watch the news.

But back to my insomnia. So I literally was lying there imagining all of the horrible scenarios and finally I got up and locked all the windows in our house. That helped a little. Then I started singing show tunes - always mood lifting. Unless you sing Les Miserables. Which I did not. And then my daughter arrived at around 3:30. I hadn't set out any bedside blankets for her because she had sort of given up the habit of nightly visitations, but there she was. So I told her to come on up and we spooned ourselves back to sleep.

Tonight we sleep with the windows locked.