It Vas a Nacht-Mare

I've mentioned that I rarely remember my dreams.

I woke up this morning and stretched, thinking, that was a really good sleep. And then I remembered that I'd had a very unpleasant dream.

Just for the record, the need for yearly drive-bys at Xman's house has disappeared. I google him occasionally just because I want to know if he's upped sticks. I think he knows he'd damned well better stay out of Virginia, North Carolina, and Georgia.

I haven't seen him since Annushka's mother died at least four years ago and even then, I didn't look at him or say hello.

Last night, I dreamed for some bizarre and unknown reason that I was living in his house again. That all had been hunk-dory, despite that fact that it still looked like the "before" on an episode of "Hoarders". In my dream, I decided I finally had enough and started yelling at him.

This astounded me because it has been more than ten years since I've yelled at anyone (I think). Or gotten into much of a scrap with anyone. I certainly don't act with anyone the way I acted with Xman. Which no doubt was part of the problem on both sides, but that train left the station a very long time ago.

Oh, and he yelled back. Strangely, he was the Xman I remembered from 20 years ago. Relatively slim although he's always had a pot belly. And he had hair. The last time I saw him, he looked like the "Willy" character in those games you used to pick up at service stations. You know - move the iron filings around with the magnet and give Willy some hair. Baldness does not suit him.

Anyway, so we were yelling at each other. I had a very familiar feeling of dread, of being trapped, and this just made me yell all the harder.

And then my sleeping self yelled at my dream self, "You have a house of your own, stupid. Go home."

The yelling stopped. I turned around, headed to my car and the dream went away.

That was cool. But the whole fighting thing upset me a lot. I'm just not used to that any more.