| Friday, August 11, 2006 |
| Terrorism Tangent |
All my life, I've had a recurring nightmare. I mean, since I was wee. It has decreased somewhat over the years to where I don't really remember the last time I had one, but it's been within the past 5 years or so.
Anyway, the dream is that a plane lands on me. Crashes, rather. Kind of like Ritchie Valens in La Bamba, only I'm not on the plane. The dream is different every time in terms of the actual circumstances. I might be in a car or a house or out in the open. I might be shopping or at school or on a road trip. I might be by myself or with loved ones. But, the basic theme is the same. I look up, see a plane in trouble (smoking, burning, whatever) and it either blows up and pieces fall on me or it comes barreling down on me.
As a result, I have a tendency to look up when I see or hear a plane and watch as it makes it's path through the sky. Watch until I know it is safely beyond harming me. Watch with trepidation for any.signs.what.so.ever that it may be having trouble. Like I could outrun it if it was.
Freakishly, we actually had a plane crash in our town some years ago. Fortunately, it was on the complete opposite side of town from where I usually am. It came down in the middle of the street, parts of it crashing through the roof of an apartment complex, pieces of it driving through car windshields. It was horrifying. I remember feeling paralyzed with fear when I heard about it on the news.
Last week, my oldest daughter, Queenie says to me, "Mom, I had the worst nightmare the last two nights. The same dream." It was like time stood still. My bowels started to run cold and the blood drained from my head. I remained cool. She continued, "blah, blah, blahblahblah, blah, blah, and then I looked up at the sky..." Hold it together, D, you're driving a car here "and there was this helicopter..." Whew, not a plane, she didn't say plane "and it started smoking..." Oh holyfuckingshit "and it blew up!" I'm pretty sure I blacked out at that point, because I don't really remember how our conversation went after that. I asked a couple more questions while silently freakingthefuck out.
Ok, so fast forward to this past weekend. My middle daughter, Stanky, comes running out of her room, where she had been playing behind a closed door, and says, "Mom! God just told me a plane is going to crash here in 15 minutes!" I'm dizzy. "What? What are you talking about?" "God. He just told me that a plane is going to crash here." Breathe. Just breathe. "What do you mean here? You mean, like here here? Like on our house or in the street outside? What?" Get a grip, D. "Um, I'm not sure. Not on our house, but here. In the street, I guess. Jesus told me. In 15 minutes." Could I conceivably get everyone dressed and out the door in 15 minutes? Where would we go? Can't she be more specific?!
At that point, I realized I was on the verge of hyperventilating or something, so I sent her back to her room and busied myself with the boob tube so I could forget what was most assuredly a 5 year old delusion. But like, 14 minutes later, she comes out again. "One more minute, Mom! The plane is going to crash."
I may or may not have been holding my breath at that point.
Clearly, nothing happened. But what the fuck kind of contagious, mass hysteria is this? Are we the plane crash family? Did I psychic-ly project my fears onto my daughters? Did they receive some sort of damage in the womb from one of my nightmares? Damn, I knew I was a vivid dreamer, but come on.
In light of all of this, it should come as no suprise that with this week's news, I am developing a crick in my neck from looking towards the sky. |
posted by *******DIANE******* @ 1:52 PM  |
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Name: *******DIANE*******
Home: California
About Me:100 Things
Email Me: HERE
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Pokeboy = 15 y/o son
Queenie = 11 y/o daughter
Stanky = 6 y/o daughter
Scooby = 2 y/o daughter
Bookem = STB Ex-Husband
Moody = 16 y/o step-daughter
Pinky = 5 lb furball
Java = Boxer-mix rescue
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