Restless dreams

[jethrien]

I woke up this morning with a knot of anxiety in the pit of my stomach for no good reason. I know that there was some kind of choice I thought I was facing in the middle of the night, and both choices were bad. I have no idea what this might be. (It very well might have been the choice between sleeping on my left side or my right; I tend to get irrationally angry and irritable when I'm half asleep. I will hate Chuckro to the depths of my soul for rolling over. And then I'll wake up all the way and not have the slightest idea why that bothered me so much. Fortunately, when I'm half asleep, I'm also pretty much incapable of actually doing or saying anything, so my irrationally angry self stays safely tucked away.)

I know I had some kind of dream about being kidnapped by aliens from a tent in the desert and having to teach Godzilla to throw baseballs at the vengeful ninja ghosts who had escaped from prison. (Rubber suit Godzilla, not the America crappy movie Godzilla.)

Comments

[(Anonymous)]

Actually, we did have a dog- a cranky, mangy, smelly cocker spaniel named Skippy. He lived a staggering long life (18.5 years), dying when Chuck was about a year and a half-- not before trying to nip him, however. Our famous line was, "Don't pet the dog; he bites."

I made the mistake of bringing Skippy, this disgusting creature, back from the edge of Parvo twice, thanks to hand-feeding him iced tea, strips of white-meat chicken, and Pepto. I bathed him every week with baby shampoo and cream rinse and blew his fur dry because 1) he stunk 2) he was terrified of groomers. I shared my antihistamines with him during hay fever season --full pill for me, half for him-- and even allowed Bob to bury him in the back yard. Poison ivy grew up over his grave. Really.

Now, if a pet like THAT doesn't warp a child, what will?

[chuckro.livejournal.com]

Can you tell, my mother was VERY fond of this dog, and was heartbroken when he died. Seriously.