My brain is not my friend. I’d go so far as to say that my brain hates me. I know it sounds like a logic fail. My brain is me and all that. But in my case, the assertion stands up. For example, she’s always feeding me inappropriate words. Words close enough to the correct word to make it through my filter and out of my mouth. Furthermore, the dreams she subjects me to on the regular are truly horrifying. Apocalyptic-type dreams on a weekly basis.
This week’s disaster dream featured a tornado. I’m standing in the world’s narrowest street. The sky is instantly dark and ominous, and the wind is increasing so fast that I have little time to react. Also? I’m holding an umbrella that is, of course, inside out. And I’m standing there trying to figure out how to restore the umbrella to working order. Because that’s bound to be a useful device when the tornado hits. Hey, dream Stephanie, that funnel cloud is going to take that inside-out umbrella and turn it into a dozen different shapes, all flying uselessly through the air unable to assist in your quest to stay alive. So, hurry and find a place to ride this out. You are probably going to die either way, but you are certainly going to die if you stand here playing with the umbrella, dumbass.
After shaking myself awake just before the funnel advanced, I sat up in bed with my heart trying desperately to remove itself from my chest. When I was a kid, I was told that if you die in a dream, you die in real life. I dismissed it at the time, but I was having some trouble doing it right after that dream. I considered checking it out online, but I knew my brain would be looking over my shoulder and planning a terrifying plot for the next death dream. So I abandoned that and decided to reason with her. I reminded her that the brain dies without its host. But she started sending me unrealistic visuals of her living a life without me. Since she was unable to come up with a rational explanation for how she could take up residence in another host, all the visuals were her in various scenes by herself. So, I began to point out the problems. I began with her appearance. I know. It’s not kind. But come on. She’s ugly. All those veins and that gelatinous coating? Who wants to get near that? She can forget about getting a hug from anyone ever. She said she was fine with that. She doesn’t need people. She’s going to travel and see things. I said great. Good luck with that. WITHOUT FEET. She then sent me a visual of her on a Segway. I immediately laughed and pointed out the glaring problem. Hello! You don’t have HANDS. She sent me a visual of her on a train. I pointed out that she wouldn’t be able to get ON the train without feet. I also mentioned that with her gelatinous coating, nobody was going to pick her up and put her on the train, even if they were able to suppress the gag reflex long enough to do so. Because, slippery! I think she started to see things my way, and we appear to have reached a reluctant truce. I hope this means that the nightmares will become less frequent, if not stop entirely. I won’t hold my breath though. She’s still feeding me inappropriate words.