Nothing, but you wouldn’t know it from the dreams I’ve had the past few days.
I am always a vivid dreamer, but lately, I wonder what in the hell is going on inside my subconscious. I won’t even go into last night’s strange, fragmented dreams – they were too weird to pass on to the world.
The night before, however, is a different story. I’ll give you the cliff notes version (because, honestly, no one ever wants to hear another person’s dreams, unless you happen to be a psychic or something).
My husband and I were in a big building not far from where I used to live in Hollywood. People were everywhere, seeking shelter from an outbreak of some sort (I referred to it as zombies when I relayed this to my husband, but that really wasn’t what they were. They looked just like people, but whenever they opened their mouths, four incredibly long, dark purple tongues shot out. My husband said it sounded more like an invasion of the body snatchers than zombies). Anyway, the zombie/body snatcher people made it to this building where we hid, and everyone had to evacuate. My husband and I got separated, and outside, people kept telling me I had to leave anyway, but I refused. Just as the hysteria reached critical mass, a group of people ran from the building, and my man was among them.
Cool, now I could go.
So the plan was that we were all going to run to Lancaster, which seems like a crappy plan, because it’s like 60 miles away from Hollywood. That is a long way to run. Anyway, my husband told me he was going to go ahead of the group and scout things out. Suddenly he was in track shorts. You know how, at the Olympics, they shoot the gun or sound the buzzer or whatever, and all the track people take off like bats out of hell? Their legs move quicker than you’d think was humanly possible? Well that’s how my husband look as he ran off – all I could see was ass and elbows. When I tried to follow, I discovered I couldn’t run. Someone dressed like a referee walked up to me and said I needed to pick up the pace if I wanted to live, but no matter what I did, my feet would hardly move. For whatever reason, I decided to try and run backwards, which worked, and I ran with my head turned looking behind me down the 101 highway. While all this may sound nightmarish, in my dream I wasn’t particularly scared.
So last night while trying to fall asleep, I started thinking about that dream. What I found most odd about it was not the zombie/body snatcher people, or the fact that I could only run backwards, but my husband running. I realized that, in our seven and a half years together, I’ve never seen him run. Well, he’s done a sort of half run with Spazzy, but he’s 6’3”, and she weighs 10 pounds, so he isn’t exactly sprinting. He spends most of the time looking down at her to make sure his feet are nowhere near her tiny legs. So really, the dog run is more along the lines of a fake run. You know, that half run people do when they go through a crosswalk after the hand starts blinking – the, I’m-gonna-move-my-arms-like-I’m-running-but-my-legs-are-pretty-much-walking, run?
Well I think that’s weird. Not the fake run, but that I’ve never seen my husband run. How is that possible? How have I never once seen him run, not to or from anything, in all the years we’ve been together? And then I started thinking, has he ever seen me run? The answer is no, I don’t believe he has.
And this thought kept me up last night. What other acts have we not witnessed the other doing? Countless ones, obviously, but I’m talking about normal things, like running. This, of course, prompted me to try and formulate a list of what constitutes normal. Do somersaults count?
Geez, it’s seven in the morning, and I already need a nap.