I always thought this painting—The Scream—was a Van Gogh. I was wrong. It’s Edvard Munch; but guess what? His work was strongly influenced by Van Gogh (yes, I did a little research). When I woke up this morning, the image was in my brain: The Scream.
My husband asked how I slept. I said fine, except I had crazy dreams. He backed a couple of feet away and asked cautiously if he was in them.
He treads warily because one morning I couldn’t stop snapping at him for anything he did—like breathe.
Finally, he’d asked, “Are you mad at me?”
HIM: You seem like it.
ME: I’m not… but you were such a jerk in my dream.
ME: You were rude and… rotten. I was so mad at you.
HIM: Are you awake now?
He accepted my apology but ever since, if I mention a dream, he still asks. Was he in it?
So this morning, after he moved across the room, he calmly inquired.
Yes, he was in it. But when I explained he’d rescued me from an evil Dennis Quaid (who is one of my all time favorite guys; so how could he turn bad in my dream?), a huge smile of relief crossed my husband’s face—yes, a smile cuter than Dennis’.
My husband was my hero. He’d saved me! He wagged his finger and said, “Remember this dream.”
When my husband says he can’t remember his dreams or he doesn’t dream in color, I always look at him incredulously, often with pity. No color? What’s that about? How awful for you.
Then I ask, can you taste or smell? Can you feel? Sometimes, I wake up shaking; I’m back on the playground in first grade going higher and higher on the swings, my pink-checkered dress flying up… and I think everybody knows what happens here.
My dreams are vivid. I can feel the wind. I might wake up in tears or with heart pounding, just having shut out the thugs chasing me on the other side of the glass door to my 57th floor penthouse suite (Say what?). I’ve experienced paranoia, confusion, embarrassment, flying, falling, bliss, and once maybe even astro-projection. I’ve never wet the bed, but I have opened my eyes to a (small) pool of drool.
I’ve wakened after happy dreams feeling incredibly relaxed not to mention those amorous ones that make your toes tingle and my husband want all the details.
I gave up watching Criminal Minds one season because I was plagued at night by gruesome, traumatic scenes. With people I knew coming after me.
And I would be mean to my husband the next day.
I thought I’d experienced every emotion in dreams. Until one day a few weeks ago. I woke up giggling. No clue as to why. But I was definitely giggling. And, throughout the day, for no reason at all, I would break into giggles. My husband thought I was pretty fun all day long.
When it happened again the very next day, I was amazed. I actually woke myself up giggling.
My most satisfying dreams occur when the plot in my story takes that twist I couldn’t find during the daylight hours or my character has a brainstorm and I jump out of bed with fingers aching to type.
So, what I’m wondering is how much of my day is influenced by what I dream the night before? (And am I doing anything like eating weird food to cause those dreams?)
Did Edvard Munch have a dream before he jumped out of bed and began The Scream?
Tonight… I hope I have very good dreams and don’t have to hold anyone accountable tomorrow. ~JD here.