It officially feels like autumn in our neck of the woods. I run the heater in my car in the mornings and the a/c in the afternoons, leaves are are turning gold, and I keep passing trucks of freshly harvested potatoes on the highway.
These are also harbingers of college football, Andrew's sacred hunting season, and the school district's week-long week off for spud harvest. I love spuds. If southeast Idaho was given a week off of school for harvesting bowling balls, I'd love those too.
So anyway, I had a dream the other night that was truly horrifying.
Andrew was trying to kill me. With a knife. I had to protect myself curled up beneath a couch cushion.
What spurred this, I have no clue. You Freudians out there might argue that it was an expression of repressed feelings of anger or hostility toward my man. Or that I feel I am being controlled or victimized by him in real life.
Whatever. Anyone who knows Andrew Ashmore wouldn't believe it for a second. Just look at that face!
Then I had to wake up and act normal around him. Ha. It's amazing how real dreams can feel sometimes. Like the time I dreamed he drove our car into the river, and then I spent the next morning angrily lecturing him on the evils of reckless driving. Poor guy.
On top of everything, this haunting images happened on the eve of his 27th birthday. Then I woke up and was all whimpery over what possessed him to attempt slashing me to pieces! I thought he loved me!
My poor husband can't catch a break.
I guess that's my whole story. Andrew hates me and wants me dead. Have any of you had dreams so realistic they affected your emotions the next day?