These Dreams I Have

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I really do have the most bizarre dreams.

I always did. But what I have now are antibiotic dreams. Apparently I'm not the only one who has this happen. They are truly weird.

Walter rarely remembers his dreams, so of course he stoutly insists he doesn't have any at all. HA! I listen to the man muttering in his sleep. Dreaming. He's probably REALLY lucky I can't even figure out which language it's in, much less understand what he's saying. ;-)

The dreams often contain these oddly inoffensive scenes of great and bloody violence. I mean, just awful stuff. Yet they can troop about my brain while leaving no sense of nightmare behind.

Last night was a combination of science fiction, roast beef, feeding my baby reindeer, and Spudnik.

You read that right. Not Sputnik.

Somehow, in my dream, I made that old joke out of it. For you young whippersnappers, this was the Soviet Union's space program in 1957, the one that beat us into orbit.

The roast beef episode was in some sort of boarding house or hostel run by an old man. I wanted it roasted low and slow, and was perfectly willing to do all the cooking myself, if only he'd be sure the oven was clean. This was late at night, like much of the dream, with an eerie silent spacey quality to it all. He seemed a bit grumpy that I wanted to cook at 2 am. (I've gotten that a lot throughout my life.)

Cut to outdoors, where another nighttime scene contained some visitors from outer space, with a number of folks rappelling down a rocky cliffy hill. In Florida. Next to a highway overpass. South Florida is notoriously flat.

The baby reindeer? It was SO CUTE! It was big and gangly, all legs like they are, and it twitched its tail most fetchingly. Someone from a biology program was trying to supply its special milk formula, but because of funding cuts, the milk was spoiled. Icky, nasty. Poor baby reindeer!

This took place in a vacant apartment. My old friend Sylvia was in the background sometimes, cleaning some apartments for customers.

We finally got the little baby reindeer to eat. We got some fresh cream and mixed it with mashed potatoes, which it liked.

Spuds.

Spudnik.

The baby reindeer would nuzzle and nurse on the bottle, tugging hard, twitching its tail happily.

I woke up laughing to myself.

Until Walter handed me some very difficult news: We have no cream.

No cream? No coffee. Can't drink it that way, me.

On this day of all days.

OMG.

He stopped smoking 3 days ago, and is having it very rough. I remember, and always will, how incredibly sickening it was for me to quit. He says he can't get to the grocery store for cream. I know this means he's in a hard place. We really can't afford it right now anyway. I don't even have the money for today's doctor copay: we spent $6.19 yesterday on insulin, and $15 for Dr. S. All gone.

And yes: If anyone can help with a $15 donation, it would be greatly appreciated. If not, we WILL get by. I know we'll find it some way. We always do.

But if a person ever looked to dreams for portents, I've figured this one out.

That cute damn baby Russian reindeer was EATING MY CREAM!

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