Thursday, November 1, 2012

Dreams and Suicide Pills

A few months ago I started taking a supplement for sleep and relaxation. One of the side effects, apparently, is excessive dreaming. I saw that and snorted. This girl never dreams, or at the very least, never remembers them. Sure enough, the first two months passed by rather un-eventfully. No dreams. Not much more sleep than usual.

Then some sort of cumulative effect must have happened, because suddenly I would be washing dishes and a bizarre memory would pop into my head. I would wander down this memory lane thinking that it seemed SO WEIRD, but hey, everyone I know is weird. Par for the course.

I think it finally occurred to me that I was actually having dreams, when I woke up one morning and put the kettle onto boil. As I stood there waiting, like a bolt out of the blue I remembered something utterly disturbing that really had to be taken care of.

"Bastard. I totally hate him right now."

I  violently ripped open my tea bag and fumed. "What a jerk. I can't believe him. I just want to punch him." I took a sip of tea. "AGhhhhhhh. How could he DO this?!"

The problem? My boyfriend had decided to go to Miami with his two friends, in order to party with HOT GIRLS. Was I mad? You bet I was. Especially because this meant he was missing Christmas with me. I was having serious doubts about him. Beyond doubts. More like "He is dead to me. And I am going to slowly peel off his skin."

I was halfway through my tea when I remembered how terrible our argument had been about this trip. And how I didn't want my little boy - who was so utterly beautiful - to be exposed to such strife.

At which point my brain went "Wait a minute, genius. You don't have a little boy."

And then I realized that I had spent the whole morning mad...because of a dream. Whoops. 


Good thing my Blackberry was lost at that moment... or someone might have received a really nasty call. Can you imagine how confusing that would have been?


A few days after that, during a conversation in which I was barely responsive, the Spaniard finally gave up.  "Ok. You're mad. What is it this time?" (This time?!)

"Nothing. " (The first most ominous word a female can utter.)


"Whatever." (Oh dear. The second most ominous word a female can utter.)

"Maryyyy.........Tell me now."

"Fiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiine." *Long Silence*


"More and more I just get the feeling that you don't really care."

*Snort. Sigh of kill. me. now'* "About you?"


"Based on............?"

"I don't know. Just things are different or something."

"Ok. Do we video chat every day? And do I email you ALL THE TIME?"

"Yeah, but they are....not the same."

"I work, remember? It's been busy. Am I coming to see you soon?"

"It's not that, it's....I don't know...." *long depressed sigh*

"I can't work with 'I don't know.' Unless you can give me specifics, there's nothing I can do."

*Gassssssp* "You know what? Be nicer."

What a prize I am.


And then it hit me. Much like the morning I spent angry at a dream, I was being bratty and REALLY annoying because of.... what?

Let's face it: a raging case of PMS and a lack of sleep is never pretty. 

In other words, I wasn't reacting to reality, I was reacting to hormones and a really, really, really....really....overactive imagination.

So now, if I haven't already flown off the handle, I have started checking myself. What am I reacting to? Is my reaction based in fact, or in a bubbling hormonal stew? (Yum!) Or fatigue? Or the fact that it's raining?

To be honest - shhhh don't tell anyone - I haven't really been that successful so far, but at least the awareness is there.


So that's cool. But now I keep wondering about this: Does the President of the United States carry around a vial of poison, which he must immediately ingest in case he gets kidnapped?

Because I woke up thinking about that the other day, and I am not sure whether this something true, or if my dreams of being the first female President and my horror of death are combining into one glutinous mass of absurdity.

I Googled "Does the President carry a suicide pill?" and nothing came up. But that's probably classified information anyway.


  1. your boyfriend must be really patient.

    Dealing with Mary is hard.

    Dealing with a PMS Mary, can´t even imagine.

  2. You are mean, just like he is.

  3. AAAAAAAAAAAAAAhahahahahahahahahahahahahahahahahahahahahahahahahahahahahahahahahahaha.

    I feel bad for Marcos. You should marry him.

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  5. he needs a compensation for all the stress you will cause in him. Maybe you should let him sleep till 2pm every weekend morning.

  6. Glad I'm not the only one who reacts to everything according to my hormonal recipe of the day. Awareness is everything. Acting according to awareness? That's for my second life.