I never sleep past 9am. I'm usually up at 6:45 and then I lull myself back to sleep until about 8:15. Today that was not the case. I woke for the first time at 8:00 and so I thought I'd just stay awake. I snuggled up in my blanket and cracked open to read with Anne. I got about thirty pages in when I began to drift back to sleep. I hadn't realized that I was still tired, but I told myself,
"hey if you're still sleepy better to get in some rest now rather than be groggy all day, no?"
I agreed with myself, so I allowed my lids to close.
In my dream I awakened to find my family rearranging random furniture in the house, there was dirt scattered around the floor from the plants they'd unpotted. I made my way down the stairs to see my siblings all in the front room doing various things. My brothers all had their backs turned, facing away from me, hunched over unseen projects. I think at this point I should have realized that I was dreaming, for in life I only have one sister and in this dream I had two, laying on their backs in the middle of the room, but they were both the same sister and they were both fed up with my overly emotional antics even before I'd begun to speak.
There was a low bookcase blocking my way from the front room into the kitchen. When I began to move it one sister lifted her head from the floor, she yelled at me saying I was undoing all their work, that I didn't know what they were trying to accomplish and I should just leave it alone. I asked her to tell me what their goal was, I might be able to help, or at least know what not to move, it didn't make any sense to have all the furniture jutting out and blocking the way into other rooms.
As I was making my case, the sister who yelled said it was 3pm and if I had wanted to help I should have been up earlier. I began to cry telling her I hadn't meant to sleep in so long. The other sister rolled her eyes at me and covered her head with her arms.
And then suddenly there was only one sister, but then sitting near her on a step stool was her boyfriend, who is in fact real and not always my favorite person. He sat there looking away from me, not saying anything as my sister complained about my constant wailing, she told me to go away. I turned and walked into the kitchen (for some reason the blockade was no longer in place, but I didn't pay any attention to that). I stood at the counter fiddling with some pencil as tears fell, all the while I wondered where my mother was. I think I had hoped to find her in the kitchen. My sister came around the corner and slapped my backside, hard. But I didn't even feel it. I wondered to myself why everyone insisted on hitting my bum when it did them no good. I couldn't even feel it, it was numb.
And then I woke up.
When I opened my eyes I was little more than horrified and then quickly flooded with relief. I hadn't actually slept the day away, although it was ten o'clock, which may have been just as bad. And my sister was only one, and she was still on her way to Alaska. And I can feel my bum.
So often when I actually remember my dreams I leaves me incredibly confused and a little melancholy. I just wish I knew what all that was about? I know people say that dreams can be a projection of what you keep hidden inside, but most often I find myself ardently hoping that is not the case. It all just seems so random. It seems as though nothing has anything to do with anything. So what can it possibly mean?
Do dreams always have to mean something? And how can you tell the difference between the dreams that are simply nonsense and the dreams that reveal your subconscious?
I love my sister. And I think my dream self cried only to think that my dreams sisters didn't love me. Does that mean something?