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| -by Toots |
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A few years ago, I used to date a sweet fellow -- let's call him George. Now, for various reasons that I don't need to go into, I used to have jealousy dreams about him. "What do you mean?" you ask. Here's an example:
I (Toots) walk into a room. George is with some strumpet on a couch, making out. I splutter with anger and start to rage at him. George looks at me calmly, his hand still on the strumpet's thigh. "What's your problem?" he asks. I had many of these dreams. I even had one where George and my (incredibly trustworthy) best friend went to New York City for a passionate weekend affair. They didn't even have the good graces to invite me along. In retrospect, I think the most infuriating thing about those dreams wasn't so much the betrayal of what was patently a monogamous relationship, but the utter disdain, the lack of guilt, the smugness of George. Not only was he cheating on me, I had no right to be angry. And yes, the cheating did hurt too. |
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Being one of those girlfriends who shares too much rather than too little, I would wake up, hurt and angry, and tell George about this dream. Obviously, it wasn't him – it was just a dream. I knew that. He knew that. It didn't stop me from being edgy for the rest of the day. Finally, George admitted what was going on: it wasn't him in those dreams, it was his evil twin Skippy.
Fair enough. My subconscious could accept that explanation a lot better than the "it's just a dream" explanation. Now, I also happen to be someone who lucid dreams (dreams lucidly?) on regular occasions. I can't do it in every dream, but I taught myself long ago how to realize that I'm not awake and take control of my dream. A few weeks after the revelation that it was Skippy, not George, who was cheating on me, I had another Skippy dream. He sat there, smug and confident in his right to fondle any woman he wanted. |
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But this time, I was ready. I knew this was a dream and it wasn't my faithful George.
"You're Skippy, not George!" I exclaimed. He grinned, sly and wolflike. "Yes, that's right," he said, still without a trace of guilt. So I slept with him. Yes, had sex with him. When I woke up, I told George about this dream, giggling. "What!" he exclaimed, shocked. "You had sex with Skippy!" Well, I felt better. And I never had a Skippy-George dream after that. |
