Dream On

Being rather lazy, it's no surprise I like to sleep. And, as one who likes to sleep, it's no shocker that I love to dream. I don't, however, always love my dreams because they are bizarre and extraordinarily crazy. I do, though, love to dissect my dreams and, just the other day, Ol' Scotty P. told me to "never" tell him about my dreams again because "it scares him."

I tried to find out what specifically terrified him about my most recent tale of flying a small scooter-type airplane through the Parkway Playhouse's director's home (a place which was most definitely not real due to its labyrinth style of secret rooms and layered hallways.) Did he not like my inablility to land the device, which I repeatedly crashed into the hardwood floors? Was he bothered that dream Scotty P. shut down his office suddenly to become a file clerk and tried to move us to a million-dollar home? Did he get jealous because I got invited to Dollywood and he didn't want to come with?

No, it turns out, as he explained, my dreams "scare the s**t out of him" because what goes on inside my head is "f'ing insane." (He is nothing if not eloquent, I always say.) I can see his point, but countered that if he's scared by secondhand versions of my nightmares, he should try spending a day living with what's going on inside my head. Seriously.

Regardless, I decided to continue telling him despite his wishes to the contrary. It's good for a couple to share things between them. If I had never told him about my dreams, he would never know about the time dream Steph was having a dream baby and dream Scott insisted it be named Wilhemina, if a girl, or Danny Todd, if a boy. (We had a girl, by the way, and I stuck the newborn in a cardboard box and forgot about her. We did name her Wilhemina. It all turned out because it was only a plastic baby doll anyhow. Dream Steph was glad it was a girl because as bad a name as Wilhemina might be, Danny Todd is, um, atrocious.) He also would have missed out on all my tales of dating Peyton and Eli Manning and how they fight over me in my sleep.

Okay, so I see why he would prefer I just keep a dream journal or something. But what fun would that be? A few nights ago I dreamt that the Penguins won this series against the Canadiens, a scenario which looks right now as likely as my dating a Manning brother.

But, it's fun to share these things with him - clearly more fun for me than him. It's okay, though. I think he secretly likes my creativity and wit.

At least, he does in my dreams.