I had a dream last night. Weird, since two of my favorite bloggers just blogged about dreams. Last night I went to bed upset, every neuron bathed in an intoxicating mix of stong emotions, like strong spirits, like a big nasty mix of tequila and rum and Pabst Blue Ribbon, and I dreamed.
I dreamed that I was pregnant. Wait. I dreamed that I was pregnant and happy and then... I started cramping. And bleeding. And I went to the hospital and I was miscarrying. I was laboring to clear my body of my dead baby and I was all alone. Crises were occurring all around me in the hospital -- everyone had other people in more immediate mortal danger to attend to, and all I could catch were flashes of people's clothing as they hurried past my doorway -- mine was a relatively tiny little problem. And in my dream I kept telling myself the stories of the women I've read on-line, come to care about, who have had their own tragedies. And I kept telling myself that they lived through this, that they've had worse than this, that I need to just buck up and get through, but everything was covered in so much blood, and everything hurt so much, and I was so alone.
So now I have an emotional hang-over. I am headachy and nauseated and there are little sparkles of fear running through my brain. Some of my dreams have been spectacularly prophetic while others are just piercingly symbolic of some deeper truth I'm not acknowledging. And then, of course, there are the dreams that are nothing but neurons pickling in a bath of emotion. The problem is figuring out which category a dream (this dream) belongs in...