Dreams Are Made for Children

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I had a dream last night wherein I toured the site of several childhood nightmares — this time viewing the scene as a young adult. A friend in the dream pointed out scary-looking elements from the backyard and noted, "Huh, that must be why this place was always so creepy for us." Everyone had aged. Several characters didn't show up. A few books were missing from the shelves. But aside from those small, appropriate differences, the setting was identical.

It was super weird.

On one hand, I'm glad that I've grown out of that particular dream series. (Like many of my recurring nightmares, the subject revolved around the darker sequences from The Wizard of Oz.) On the other hand, wow, I hope that never happens again.

The way I walked around in the dream gave me a glimpse of life as a pretentious adult, as the kind of person who sneers all the way through art museums and who doesn't drink chocolate milk. That person would have laughed at the child who found witches and black castles scary. That person has no imagination and a bad attitude. That person doesn't properly appreciate the color pink.

I don't think I'm at risk for becoming that person, since I still feel sympathetic for other peoples' irrational fears (past and present) and still drink chocolate milk almost daily. However, I definitely want to avoid dreaming like that arrogant old fart. I probably don't have much control over that, but I think I'm going to start falling asleep to Spongebob Squarepants just to be safe.

Thursday's Child

Thursday's Child

You know, it's funny. I posted about being grown-up too.

As far as these recurring dreams go, I haven't had any of my recurring nightmares in quite a long time. After several years of them, I had a series of them in which everything ended up working out in the end: the monsters were nice, the lady got saved, the beasties were just wanting someone to play with, etc. It's funny how that works. I wonder if you'll ever have them again?

Rachelskirts

Rachelskirts

One dream series ended when my mother told me to pour water on the Wicked Witch the next time I had the nightmare. It worked. Some recurring nightmares were, in retrospect, a bit silly (for example: being chased around a mall by a giant who could only be appeased by short, rhyming poems), so I think I got all the closure I needed just by growing up. The other nightmares, though, were so deeply terrifying and villainous and demonic that I truly don't know how my brain could manage to resolve them nicely, even after all these years.

I guess only time will tell . . .

Team Christmas

Team Christmas

I totally misread the title and thought it said "Dream Are Made of Children". Very scary thought. Rather funny too.