Last Night's Dream (not an entertaining post)

I've been told never to tell anyone my dreams. Not because people want to repress me or anything, just because there's nothing duller than hearing about someone else's dream. I'm sure that's true...it's exactly like telling a story where you can't remember the flow and there's no punchline and the other person doesn't know the characters (they've come out of your head...they're not even the real people). Add all this to the fact that it's just not real and nobody suffered any real consequences and the question "So how did he react?" is completely useless, and you have a crappy, crappy-ass monologue.

But to hell with that. This is MY blog.

Last night I dreamt that my grandparents, my sweet, innocent, slightly hard-of-hearing but still with their wits about them grandparents had plotted to kill my father. And each member of my family (my mother, my sister, and myself) had a part to play in the killing of my dad, which we were supposed to perform with easy deception and calm. My mother did her part, I'm sure, my grandparents did more than their part, and to my shock, I performed my assigned part, hardly comprehending what I was doing. My sister was the only one who refused to do anything. At some point, we were all, grandparents included, father not, sitting around my living room. It was clear to me that my father had already been killed, and my mother mentioned something about calling him or waiting to get home. While everyone was aware of exactly what was going on, nobody dared spoil the perfect facade, until I spat something at my mother about "...and EXECUTION," and she burst into tears. I, too, began to cry and started to hug her. I motioned for my sister to come hug us, but she refused to join her murderous family. I kept saying "Just us!" meaning that the hug would exclude the grandparents, the true villains in the scheme and the ones who would have to suffer least because of it. Natalie did come over and joined the hug, and we all wailed as we began to accept that our father would never be back.

So yeah, tough shit. I woke up shakier than I have been in years, after a dream. Had I had this dream at age 5, I so would have been in my parents bed in about three seconds. But as it was, I lay there until I fell asleep again and had a few just as vivid but much less disturbing dreams.

Why my grandparents? I've certainly had enough dreams about their deaths, and I've always been shaken to the core thinking that they'll someday die. And, not to be too negative, but their deaths will probably--and, dare I say it, hopefully--come many years before that of my father. I love them. They're really great folks, despite their general geriatricness. I saw them today. Things have certainly gotten much more awkward between myself and the grandparents. I don't really know what to talk with them about. Then again, I'm not close to many adults (real adults, I mean) besides my parents. I don't get much beyond polite conversation with even the closest of my mom's friends, and I keep a significant emotional distance between myself and my former teachers. So maybe it's the adult thing. Then again, Mr. Arrigo has read most, if not all, of the erotica I've written...including those pieces I haven't published. Like the one between two very thinly veiled teachers. Some adults, perhaps, don't need to be protected so much. Then again, I know a little too much about exactly how Mr. Arrigo takes his sexual pleasure. Perhaps I shouldn't assume they're OK with hearing the raunchy stuff until they've extended some hint in my direction.

Natalie tries to avoid Griz and Bucky (the grandparents) as much as possible. I know she has no interest in seeing them because she doesn't have anything to talk about with them, either. I can hardly blame her. But my Mom thinks there's something more. She thinks they scare her because they're old. I can understand that, too. Age is a bit of a disability. Every time I pick something up for them, I feel like I'm flaunting my own nimbleness. And then there's the whole imminent doom(ain?) thing. My my grandmother's 77 and my grandfather's pushing 81. While this doesn't mean they're in their last five or even ten years, they're hitting the life expectancy. How many people really live to 95? It's very scary that they'll be gone relatively soon. I've already spent substantially more than half the time I will ever spend with them. Wow...I've never thought of it that way before. Will they ever see their great-grandchildren? Maybe I really should get a boyfriend...start the ball rolling and all.