(no subject)
[Locked to Sam and Carol]
I had this dream last night. (Sam, Carol's on this too, because she's, you know, Carol, but the dream's the reason I was weepy when I got up this morning. Well, that, and the hormones.) I had this dream. I was, you know, an adult, and I was in bed and my mother was sitting on the edge of the bed feeding me (well, having made and watching me eat, she wasn't the one, you know, holding the fork) green jello. She used to do that, when we were sick, and I forgot about it. Jello, for any and all illness. Anyway. My mother, sitting on the edge of the bed and I was eating jello, and I kept trying to talk and I couldn't. You know in dreams, how you open your mouth, and no words come out? That was this dream.
I kept getting more and more agitated, and she finally shook her head and smiled, pressing her hand against my abdomen which I realized was huge-- we're talking bigger than I intend to ever let myself get-- and whispered that everything was okay, and that she was proud of me. And then there was no more jello, and she was gone, and I woke up.
Reading this over, there's really no reason to post it or share it, but I woke up weepy but in a good way, and I want to remember it. Want to be able to look back at it. Because usually, when I dream about my mother, they're dreams about guilt and dying, and this one wasn't. And I like it.
[/Flock]
I had this dream last night. (Sam, Carol's on this too, because she's, you know, Carol, but the dream's the reason I was weepy when I got up this morning. Well, that, and the hormones.) I had this dream. I was, you know, an adult, and I was in bed and my mother was sitting on the edge of the bed feeding me (well, having made and watching me eat, she wasn't the one, you know, holding the fork) green jello. She used to do that, when we were sick, and I forgot about it. Jello, for any and all illness. Anyway. My mother, sitting on the edge of the bed and I was eating jello, and I kept trying to talk and I couldn't. You know in dreams, how you open your mouth, and no words come out? That was this dream.
I kept getting more and more agitated, and she finally shook her head and smiled, pressing her hand against my abdomen which I realized was huge-- we're talking bigger than I intend to ever let myself get-- and whispered that everything was okay, and that she was proud of me. And then there was no more jello, and she was gone, and I woke up.
Reading this over, there's really no reason to post it or share it, but I woke up weepy but in a good way, and I want to remember it. Want to be able to look back at it. Because usually, when I dream about my mother, they're dreams about guilt and dying, and this one wasn't. And I like it.
[/Flock]