A very orange, cross-eyed hyena bit my right pointer knuckle in my dream last night, and I welcomed the classic, senseless nightmare as I awoke feeling refreshed and reset. It was nice to be granted with an unearned break from the horror of my current cyclical nighttime vision. Up until that point, our move from Massachusetts to North Carolina was my sleeping brain’s image of choice, and it continued every night, and I’m certain it’s not through with me.
Each night while I sleep, I relive the exhausting daily worry about finding a house for me, three of my sons, our German shepherds, cats, sixteen chickens, and a bearded dragon. My mind recreates my memories of winter house showings where we would leave the house with a stuffed truck to sit in the parking lot of our local pizza place, Paisanos, while strangers walked around our beloved old farmhouse, poked through our stuff, and laughed at my decorating skills. As I sleep, I am reminded of wiping off doorknobs to get rid of unfamiliar germs, frantically ensuring the cats are still in the house and not coyote food, and suffering general feelings of loneliness.
The dreams all have the same sensation. In the last one, I felt the soft green grass on my hands as I sat on the lawn on the side of my house watching everyone around me. (My yard in Massachusetts had very fine grass that was soft and cool even in August. The chickens liked it better than the centipede we have here, which is heartier and strong enough to withstand the hot sun and warmer days. I think of the silky, Northern grass more than I should.)
In the latest dream, it was already nighttime, dark with only the warm lighting from inside the house to show us the yard. The new owners were there measuring, whispering, laughing as they were side eyeing us. They wanted us out. The chickens and cats and dogs were running free of their fences and leashes. We only had a few hours to sleep until our trip in the early morning, our relocation to North Carolina. I could see through the living room window that the pictures were hanging on the wall still, and someone else’s chair-and-a-half was sitting in front of the picture window. In each of these dreams, nothing is packed or cleaned, I can’t talk, and I can’t move.
Although we are safe and sound in NC and have been since May 19th, I can’t shake the past few months out of my head. It mirrors reality too much, the parallels between my dreams and facts are vivid. I try to analyze them, but it doesn’t help, and I only hope they slither their way to a different timeline or universe. It’s been too long since I’ve been naked in class or have fallen from nothing, and I miss it.