On the lam

One of Ginger’s prompts this week was “Tell us the most ridiculous moment of your week” and I’ve got a humdinger for you. It starts with me on the run from the cops.

Well, I suppose it starts with the fact we’ve reached the out-of-control part of summer, where you wonder if you’ll actually make it through. We went to five different events/parties this weekend, hosted family …and re-roofed our house. No big. While I wasn’t actually on the roof (that was Thomas and four other guys), I was in charge of wrangling kids, preparing the house for company, feeding the roofers, making sure everyone was ready to go and the diaper bag was appropriately packed each time we walked out the door and…oof.

We’re both big balls of stress right now and having trouble sleeping. My anxiety dreams are through the roof.

Last night I dreamt I was a guy (no idea) and, along with two friends, killed strangers for no reason. We had our methods down to a science and were pretty good at it.

While we’re leaving the scene of one murder, someone writes down our license plate number. Neither they or the police have any reason to believe we’re actually the killers, but the cops check us out just in case. Something about us makes them suspicious. They decide to keep an eye on us, but they’re really only mildly suspicious and are actively checking other leads.
We, on the other hand, are nervous as hell and doing everything we can to not get caught. We’re apparently dumb enough to take photos of our crime scenes, so we’re destroying those (carefully, and through creative means, so if anyone checks our trash it’s not apparent), making sure there’s no trace evidence in our car, on our clothes, and so on.

For a while we’re successful at staying one step ahead of the police, which leads me to get even more nervous as I start to worry my two accomplices will get cocky and let their guard down. I feel we need to remain in a state of constant vigilance and definitely definitely not kill anyone else. Forced retirement, effective immediately.

Will we be able to stay out of jail? Will we successfully destroy anything that might link us to any murder? Will my accomplices stay out of trouble? Will we be able to give up our pastime? Do the cops know more than they’re letting on? Will we have to live the rest of our lives under casual police scrutiny?

At that point the anxiety finally overwhelmed me and I woke up. I could hardly breathe. I was shaking. I got up and got a drink of water, then laid down but couldn’t sleep for over an hour.

I remembered all sorts of details, like how I was dissolving photos with chemicals and cutting camera memory cards into dozens of pieces, then dropping one piece at a time into various trash cans around the city.

The city, of course, was New York City, because I basically inserted myself into a made-up episode of Law & Order. I was sort of watching the “show,” which is how I always knew what the cops were thinking/doing, yet I was also one of the killers. It sucked mightily and if anyone would like to send some Valium I’ll be happy to share my address. Just look for the house with the pretty new roof.

What’s the craziest dream you’ve ever had? No really, tell me. I want to know!

Comments

  1. Duuuude, you might need to lay off the Law & Order before bedtime. :)

    I think the most realistic dream I’ve ever had involved me hiding out in a Soviet bloc style apartment while sirens blared outside. The sound was so real to me that I couldn’t shake the anxiety all day. Why can’t Channing Tatum show up for my most realistic dreams?

    • Jessica says:

      The worst part is I’d only been thinking about how I miss Law & Order! We don’t have cable, so my re-run watching days have been over for awhile. (Hulu really needs to get on that.)

  2. That is quite some anxiety dreaming!
    The craziest dream I ever had, I had when I was like 6, but I remember it to this day. I was at this mansion with this little boy I liked, and he started teasing me. Then he started throwing things at me–Madballs, do you remember those? The balls with the creepy faces on them? Anyway, he started throwing those at me, and as he threw them, they started coming to life. And he’s throwing hundreds of these things at me, and they pile of them are getting bigger and bigger and I’m basically covered in this writhing mass of screaming, talking, chomping Madballs.
    It was pretty traumatic, clearly.