Last night, I was walking in the Little Italy section of Baltimore, trying to get Nina fall asleep. She had begun to go “Chucky” on me in the restaurant where our friends were hosting their rehearsal diner. During our walk, I saw a few interesting looking houses.
For the first time since Leila was born, I remember a dream I had last night. Mostly because Nina woke me out of it by crying in her own dream, at 5 am. I’m guessing this dream was influenced by the recap sequence in one of the Battlestar Galactica episodes I watched last night.
Here’s what I remember:
My family, my parents and sibling, and my grandparents, and Carrie’s parents and siblings where all in a huge house which looked like a cross between an old colonial plantation house and my grandparents’ cube like, reinforced concrete, built to last and withstand a direct hit from a 500lbs bomb, bunker of a house in France. We were all there, trying to prepare the house for a nearby nuclear detonation. I remember I had to go around the house to close all of the wooden shutters. I remember feeling stressed that I wouldn’t get to all of them before the impending attack. As I was about to close the last one, I saw the distant white flash of light, followed by the muffled sound of the detonation a few seconds later. I finally closed the shutter as the blast wave was about to hit the house… then Nina cried in real life, and saved me from my own mind.
A few weeks ago, I was commenting to a friend who was recounting a nightmare of hers, that she was lucky to be able to remember her dreams. Now, I’m rethinking that thought. I do miss my dreams, but when it comes to the ones like last night’s, I’ll be happy to continue on not remembering them.