A long long time ago, my father said something to me that really stung at the time. I was trying to tell him about a dream I had had and he said, "Ricky, no one wants to hear about your dreams. They're boring for other people. They are only interesting to you." I took his words to heart, piercing as they were, and stopped myself from talking about my dreams. But other people continued, not having had this bit of insight from my father. And you know what? He was largely correct. That is not to say that there are not interesting dreams out there, nor is there a dearth of those willing to be interested in them. I've met people who think every dream is a puzzle, that they can "figure it out" if they only study it hard enough. But as I said, by and large, dreams are only interesting to ourselves.
Nevertheless, sometimes the influence of dreams is unavoidable. Yesterday, when Serge woke up, he came and joined me in the office, sat down with his coffee and said, "You're not leaving me for a woman." It wasn't a question, it was more a statement of reassurance to himself. I immediately gleaned that he had dreamt some such nonsense, but in my avoidance of hearing about dreams, I didn't ask any questions about it. Then spouse got the morning urge, right about at the 5th sip of coffee, and slipped off to the bathroom. I hadn't noticed this when I also got my morning urge, turned to go to the bathroom and discovered he had beat me there.
And then my dream came flooding back that I had had in the middle of the night. I had to go poo super bad. (What? Those are really the words I think.) I went to the bathroom to discover Serge peeing and said please hurry, it's an emergency, and he just stood there taunting me, a never-ending stream of urine squirting into the bowl. I leaned against the wall to "keep it in" but it didn't work and I stood there and shit my underwear, a big mud pie squished around my rump. I was furious, fiiiiiilllllllllllllllllled with hatred, as Serge continued to pee and cackle at me.
So that suddenly put me into a negative mood, "Hurry up, I have to go!" I barked at the closed bathroom door. "Okay!" he rather pitifully replied. We exchanged places shortly after and once done, remet in the office. It wouldn't be until the evening that Serge would detail his dream. By then I had forgotten all about it. He called around 7 from a local pub and asked if I had had a nice day, what was I doing, did I love him. "He's being awfully sweet," I thought, and told him I was going to cook a pizza. He said he would be home soon (which sometimes means "late") and he said he loved me again and we hung up. I figured he must have had a hard day or something. (If you know spouse, you know he's not mushy like that.) He came home an hour later. "I didn't expect to see you so soon! The pizza is still hot, there's some on the counter for you," I said when he walked in. He came right over and sat down beside me. And then he started.
"It was so bad. It was so real. You were leaving me, but I was the one who had to go. You said you were marrying a woman and that I had to move out." And then the dream got weird, something about his mother and a corpse and a stranger looking through the window and I don't know all what. But the terribleness of me leaving him to marry someone had really got to him. "So that's why he's acting so nice," I thought but did not say. It was so charming in a way. I liked that he had the weest bit of insecurity, something he would never ever reveal normally. This will keep my heart cozy and warm all week.