At 0400 hours this morning, I had a dream that Zack was hurting me. I can’t remember exactly what he was doing, which is fine, because that’s not really the point. Best I can recall, there was a car involved, and we were traveling down a highway together when he told me he didn’t like the way I was driving. He decided that he was going to take over the wheel, then implemented his plan by jerking us all over the road, hurting me, and eventually ditched me on the side of the highway and drove away.
I was angry, hurt, confused, degraded, and angry. That’s angry x 2. I’m a pretty emotional dream person anyway, so you have to understand: double dream angry is a serious kind of angry. I was apparently so angry that, in my slumbering state, I double-foot donkey-kicked Zack right out of the bed.
I woke up screaming “DON’T TOUCH ME,” as my husband, who was jarred from sleep by my irrational outburst of midnight physical violence, tried desperately to get me to wake up without laying his hands on me (per my rather loud repeated requests).
When I finally came around, Zack gently explained to me that I had just kicked the ever-loving crap out of him for no apparent reason. I, in turn, felt absolutely horrible, because as I was recanting my dream to him I realized it was actually my brother David, not Zack, who had dream-bandoned me on the side of the highway and deserved to be dream-donkey-kicked off the bed.
Oops. Sorry, Zack.