Dream Journal: Army of Darkness

I hate it when my insecurities bubble through into my dreams and ruin a good time.

… Not that being a common foot soldier trudging through a muddy field with the rest of the troops should be considered a good time. But it beats being told you’re a jealous, demanding, unlovable shrew who’s unworthy of her boyfriend’s affections…

Last night I dreamed I was a soldier fighting in a long and brutal war. I remember seeing my friends being blown apart by bombs in an ocean of churned dirt.

At last, after many months of grim battle, our tour was over and we were free to return home. The army walked on foot through scenes of devastation until we finally reached the outskirts of the city where we lived — a place that thankfully had been untouched by all the fighting.

Rob was in the dream. He was my fiancee and was going to go ahead of me to visit his parents and tell them of our plans to get married. I stayed behind with all our cases of stuff to make sure they didn’t get stolen.

A day later, Rob was back — convinced that maybe we shouldn’t get married, after all. When I pressed him to explain his sudden change of heart he confessed that his dad had argued strenuously against our getting married, saying that I was not good wife material and that Rob would live to regret it if he caved to my demands and married me.

I was heartbroken. I couldn’t believe it — I thought Rob’s parents liked me. And for the criticism to come from Bob? It was too much. “But I thought your dad liked me — more than your mom, at any rate,” I protested.

Rob shrugged. “He probably does.”

That didn’t make me feel any better.

Things when from bad to worse when Gerald B. from high school stole all our boxes of stuff when we were arguing. The former math genius-cum-farmboy had gone over to the dark side and was heading up a gang of ruthless criminals.

I was especially sad to lose my old-fashioned clock — the one in a slim case of engraved silver. I remember opening it to see if it worked (REALITY CHECK!) but because it was an analog clock that hadn’t been wound recently there was no way for me to tell if it kept proper time or not.

The dream fizzled from there, but I wrote the following in my dream journal in barely legible writing:

“Later on, I caught the hairdresser airbrushing someone else. BUSTED!”

Clearly I need to work on my jealousy issues if I fly into a rage at the sight of my touch-up artist working on another customer. Maybe Bob had a point…

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