Even My Subconscious Is A Closeted Neat Freak

I have a pretty vivid imagination.  Most of the time, I can keep it in check.  Usually if I start daydreaming with twists down a road of the unfathomable, unrealistic, plain old fiction, I can just shake it off, smile and get right back to work.  Most of these blurbs of imagination are just a functional form of procrastination that only take 30 seconds at most.  It’s all I will allow during the week; I’m a very busy person.

Where I can’t control my imagination and find it playing and toying with me the most is in my dreams.  

Now I know that everyone thinks that they have strange dreams, but it’s gotten to the point where sometimes I don’t want to share what I’ve dreamed of because it gives people a wierd impression of me.  Perhaps that's because most people carry the belief that dreams are a form of communication between a person’s subconscious and every day psyche. 

Great Example of Katy’s Crazy Dreams:

A few months ago I had a dream that contained G.E. Smith.  Name sounds familiar but you can’t quite place it?  He was the long, blond haired front man for the Saturday Night Live band in the early 90’s. 

Yep.  He was in my dream. ...As a swimmer, in a swim team that I was coaching, in the ocean, in India.  Mind you I have never, ever been a competitive swimmer, I’ve only visited the ocean twice, never in India.  Nor have I ever met G.E. Smith OR do I have any knowledge of the fact that he is a competitive swimmer, a lover of the ocean, or has spent time in India.

Weird, right?   I’m well aware.

This dream came from nowhere.  Just pure imagination, from the depths of my brain, craving a release. 

If you did believe that it was a message from my subconscious, you may look up key words on dream interpretation websites (like I tried shortly after having this bizarro dream).  If you look up ocean, you may find that since I was out in the middle of the ocean, that I feel that I’m experiencing setbacks in my life.  However there are no word cues for India, Swim Team, G.E. Smith, or the brightly colored, pink Speedo that he was wearing.  Therefore, for lack of research on the other main players in my dream, I feel that no conclusive evidence points to the fact that this dream is a reflection of my life. (Trust me, there are no pink Speedo's in my life).

I could give you numerous other examples of strange dreams pulled from various stages of my life, but none of them really reflect anything about me, other than the fact that I have a flamboyant imagination, especially when in the deepest depths of slumber. 

However last night was the first night that my dreamscapes gave me a tidbit of perspective into my subconscious. 

In my dream, or I should say nightmare, last night I was being chased by dust bunnies.  And they were TERRIFYING.

These were not the cute, little white rabbits pulled out of a hat by a magician nor were they brown bunnies seen hopping in and out of the trees beside the gravel road of my parent’s farm.  These were enormous and grotesque hares, the size of a normal five year old child, with beady pink eyes, and fangs sticking out from long, dripping snouts.  Although the body of each rabbit looked twisted, I was very sure of what they were because of the tall, veiny ears, and long, brown, course fur sticking straight out from each body, of which the main component consisted of a thick, chalky dust that clung to the entire surface area of each strand. 

These dust bunnies chased me through my house, jumping off of all surfaces that I know are hot spots for dust to fall on.  With every pounce came a landing that resulted in a poof of dust coming off of their body, falling lightly on the surfaces left behind.  These monsters roared, snorted, and bit at me as I tried to fight against them with my hands, slapping at them in dusting motions meant to conjure up the power of the wax on/wax off of the Karate Kid.  Fighting against them was of no use- the dust bunnies did what rabbits do.  They reproduced at an amazingly rapid rate and took me over.  At the end of my dream, I stood alone in the place that I knew as my living room, with heaving, seething rabid dust bunnies covering everything I could see blinking those terrible pink eyes and twitching their snotty noses.

When I woke this morning, my hair gave proof that I had been tossing and turning all night out of fear during my nightmare.   My normally side swept bangs had a colic the size of an orange over my right eye, the hair on the back of my head was practically standing straight up.  It was comical and I wish that I would have taken a picture to share.  It was so bad that upon first sight, my husband started laughing and grabbed for a hat, telling me “You HAVE to do something about that!”

After the my hair had been tamed (not to be confused with the hares in my dream that were still running wild through my brain) and Kendall had stopped laughing at my expense, he asked me why I had tossed and turned all night.  When I finally brought myself to admit to him that the dust bunnies had come out to get me, he laughed again, whole heartedly.  “Is your brain really telling you that you need to dust?”  he asked innocently enough.  “Didn’t you just dust like a week ago?”

It’s true, I did.  It doesn’t mean that I stop myself from thinking that I should drop everything, get out the buckets, washrags, and cleaning agents when I find out that a friend is visiting this weekend.  A friend that I need to remind myself lives in a bachelor pad that he has affectionately dubbed “The Shanty”.  He won’t care if our home has a little dust here and there.  But if I can fit a dusting session in tonight, I will.

Hopefully finding time for a dusting session will put my subconscious’s closet neat freak side at ease so that my dreams can be void of these phantom dust bunnies and left to the likes of any and all early 90’s SNL actors with maybe a guest appearance by Tina Fey.