I guess at first glance, my night’s sleep looks OK. There was a lot of deep sleep, which is supposedly a good thing.
But, the deep sleep is disproportionate and I always have crazy dreams. Throughout my life, I’ve tended to remember my dreams, and they have intensified since I started taking all of this medication. Now I have many dreams each night, in full color, with sounds, words, and emotions. It’s exhausting.
Here is what happened during last night’s adventures.
My first dream of the night… There are lots of bizarre, obscure details, but I’m just going to describe it and hopefully you can follow along.
I was a contestant on America’s Next Top Model (yeah, I know, but just go with it…) and there was a runway challenge that would determine the next elimination. For the challenge, we (the contestants) had to create “fashion” out of the outfits we came in. I looked down. I was wearing a truly stupid get up. It was an ugly 1990’s style black dress with an empire waist and a square neckline. Over the dress, I had on a bolero jacket with four buttons down the front.
Part of the challenge assignment was to jazz up our outfits with things we had in our bags. I looked to see what I had with me. I opened a little zipper pouch and some decorative bobby pins fell out.
“Sweet,” I thought, “I can put these on my jacket buttons to really make this outfit into high-fashion.” And as I was looking more closely at my decorative bobby pins, I noticed that, instead of a pretty little bobble, some of them had photographs of Tyra Banks, “Mr.” Jay Manuel, and André Leon Talley.
So perfect. These photo bobby pins on my buttons on my bolero jacket are really going to make the judges sit up and notice. But shit! I have four buttons and only three people… I thought that I might have another bobby pin with Tyra on it. That would be acceptable. But gah, where is it? I could only find regular bobby pins.
And then, in the midst of my bobby pin and button debacle, I got distracted by a pile of take-out food bags at my feet. I had ordered a bunch of food. Really, really messy food with lots of sauces that leaked. I suddenly had a shrimp po’ boy in my right hand and a bag with a container of salad in my left hand. My sandwich was dripping into the lap of my 90’s fabulous dress. Shit. I tried to juggle the sandwich into a different position, and by doing so, I flung my left hand with the salad. The little plastic container with the salad dressing fell out of the bag and exploded on the pant leg of the contestant sitting next to me. “Oops. Gee, I’m really sorry.”
The food disappeared and I refocused on the challenge. The final element was to choose a song to play while I did my runway walk. I chose Love Lockdown by Kanye West.
And then it was time to line up for the runway show, which seemed to be held on the same stage as the Waterville talent contest from Jim Henson’s Emmet Otter’s Jug-Band Christmas.
I woke up before I did my runway walk, so I have no idea if the judges were wowed by my bobby pin buttons…
In my next dream, it finally happened. I got the call to be a Radio City Rockette!
As you can probably imagine, I was overjoyed. I made my way to the theatre for rehearsal, so nervous. My hands were sweaty and I had trouble opening the door that led into the stairwell that would lead me to the rehearsal room. I was walking up the stairs feeling happy and nervous and I was imagining myself onstage feeling the warmth of the lights. And then all of a sudden, I stopped. I said loudly out loud, “Shit! I have CRPS!” I sat down, halfway up the stairs, and cried. I was devastated because there was zero possibility that my right foot would fit, much less be stable enough to dance, in my LaDucas.
I woke up as the sound of my sobs were echoing in the stairwell.
In my final dream of the night, I was supposedly riding a subway, but it was more like Berlin’s S-Bahn.
The train was above ground (like the S-Bahn) traveling up what I think would have been 3rd Avenue. I needed to get off at 34th St. I was, for some reason, very confused about the trip, and it was a short distance, but took a very long time. I was sitting next to a girl, maybe 25ish, who looked very sweet and friendly. I made eye contact. I said something about how slow the train was and asked her if she knew why it was taking so long. She smiled and said she didn’t know. I realized that I wasn’t wearing any shoes. I thought, “not again.” (What does this even mean? I don’t remember forgetting my shoes in previous dreams…) I was sitting by the door. I heard the door open and close. A creepy guy got on and was standing in front of the doors. I avoided eye contact with him and tried to make conversation with the girl. I didn’t stand up, but somehow my eyesight aligned with his face. “I don’t know why you are trying to get advice from a crack addict,” he said to me.
“Uhm. A crack addict???” I said.
“Yeah. Her,” He said. Pointing with his head in the direction of the girl because his hands were in the pockets of a long dark blue trench coat.
“How do you know she is a crack addict??” I asked.
The guy leaned in very close to my face. His eyes were bloodshot and he scowled at me.
“Because I just smoked crack with her!”
And then I woke up and lied in bed trying to figure out what in the world I had just dreamt. Crack?!?! I dozed off a little before I gave up on trying to sleep.
So, if you ever wonder why I say, “mornings are hard,” this is part of the reason. My pain is worse in the mornings, my head is groggy from the medications, and in just over 5 hours, I may have been on a national reality tv show, improvising a horrendous makeshift outfit before embarrassing myself, felt the elation of one of my childhood dreams coming true, only to be completely deflated by CRPS (gah, it’s my real life, I don’t need it hijacking my imagination too…), and ridden shoeless on the S-Bahn slowly making my way up 3rd Ave with a couple of crack addicts.
Your patience with me as I reemerge into the wakeful world, is truly appreciated.