I am a NICE shark, not a mindless eating machine.

[Underdog]

Ok, everyone, calling all Freudian and Jungian interpreters... in a minute. Cuz I have to reply to Mer first.

I know, your point hit home and is well taken. And it provided me ENOUGH to keep fighting the good fight. This morning when he walked through the door he was rather neutral. I was very anxious--my dreams were still swirling in my head and we simply HAD to discuss getting this golf tournament on a good roll.

I headed out to the car but decided to come back in. He was booting up the computer... I said quietly, "I really appreciate your help and cooperation. I know I haven't been exactly chipper lately, and I want you to know that I appreciate your letting me get this out."

Sort of a blank look, but not quite. He didn't smile but he looked me in the eye and said, "No problema."

For the record, when my alarm goes off, I'm nearly always semi conscious--enough to know that the time is drawing near. Maybe I have to go potty or something, but I'm usually coherent when I wake up. Not today. The alarm startled me horribly and I had to push the snooze button to give myself some time to regroup. Fortunately, my hair cooperated so I didn't really lose those 10 extra minutes.

Here goes this dream:

I'm out and about, running errands by myself. I stop in a teacher supply store and manage to meet a speech therapist who is not practicing. (Note to all, in reality I'm really getting a little anxious about D6 not being in private speech therapy, so I believe this must be the basis for this part.) I begin chatting with her, and another person joins in the convo.

During the course of our convo, I notice that this woman is consuming cans of root beer--like a chain root beer drinker. She crushes the can with one hand and then grabs another.

She then hands me the business card of a private speech therapist--whose name I obviously recognize. I'm VERY happy about this and decide to head home to share the good news with Mr. W. Oh, and I'm driving my old Triumph red convertible (my first car and I adored it). I'm so happy to be driving my friend again.

I head home and I guess things aren't going well between us because he seems cool toward me. (Note to me: And I am surprised by this? Why?) I tell him I've got the name of a potential therapist. He gallicly shrugs his shoulders and takes the girls somewhere.

I, in the meantime, get my bathing suit on... because I'm going scuba diving with a hot love interest, who seems to be interested in me too. I find myself just getting ready to kiss him when I find myself transported in time back to my house--no Mr. W. but my kids are there. I seem relieved?

D6 and I head to bed. We're watching TV together when we look up at the ceiling... I'm a little worried at what I see: a big, cherry slurpee colored blob forming there, looking ready to drip. D6 is FASCINATED.

Another big blob is forming behind it, and it morphs together (like T2 movie) into one big red blob and drops to the floor. D6 is laughing hysterically and I'm thinking to myself: "How the hell am I supposed to clean that up?"

Well, the red blob morphs into a 4 ft Spiderman! (I hate Spiderman, so I don't get this.) And D6 is laughing like a goon--which is also odd, because she's very afraid of dressed up characters. I seem extremely disturbed by the fact that Superman is only about 4 feet tall... moreso than the fact that he's standing in my bedroom in a pool of cherry slurpee colored slime...

He then disappears, much to D6's dismay.

I seem to go off (leaving my kids) trying to find Superman. I arrive home and find a whole house full of people. These include my girls, my BIL and his wife, a few friends from VA, a childhood "aquaintance" who sexually abused my brother, my boss, and a few speech therapists. They are all drinking soda. I open the fridge, and there seems to be a grocery store's stock of soda in there. What's up with all this soda? I'm actually looking for root beer but want a Diet Coke. I grab one and shut the door, turning to the expectant crowd of people.

Everyone seems to be expecting me to do something or say something. But what? And what are we all gathered for? I seem to instinctively know... so I conjure Spiderman into the room. He pops through the ceiling again (much to the crowd's delight).

Again, I seem to be the only person who is extremely disturbed at his 4 foot stature. What kind of superhero is smaller than I am?

I seem to be so relieved that I can do this, and I run toward him, seemingly wanting to hug and kiss this plastic, stoic faced man. He stops me with a hand and silence. The party crowd is silent. He tells me that he doesn't like me "that way"--that I'm too hairy?

He seems honest enough and truthful, but I seem disbelieving of this fact... and I offer to get a Brazilian! (What???? This is not me at all.) He looks at all of us and says, "I'm not like you. I don't like men either. I like plastic figures like myself."

And then I woke up to the sound of the alarm.

Man, I really was working hard at interpreting this as it went along. It was like I was observing all these people and trying to figure out what it all meant. But I never came to any conclusions either.

Who wants a go?

Opt, you're not the only one with weird dreams....

Betsey