See saw, Margerie Dawe
You take a hatchet and I’ll take a saw
And we’ll chop the head off our mother-in-law.
My own mother-in-law sings this to my children. These are the types of songs that pass as lullabies in Ireland. I’m guessing this is why the Irish drink.
Speaking of self-inflicted nightmares…
I’ve always had a problem with nightmares. I absolutely have to sleep on my stomach or I’ll have a nightmare. I can actually tell in my dream when I’ve turned onto my back because it suddenly becomes very dark and sinister and scary. The same thing happens if my blankets come down off of my shoulders. Or if my hair is touching my neck.
The whole sleep business is a hassle.
My nightmares are often so vivid, I can remember them for days afterwards. I still remember a few I had when I was young. One was about monsters and a witch who was holding my then-baby brother’s head with her long, sharp, purple fingernails. Another was about killing baby ducks, who were rubber, but still totally real.
With nightmares being such a regular occurrance, I learned at a young age how to make myself wake up from them. It’s the weirdest thing, but it works. If I concentrate hard enough, I can make myself look up as hard as I can while I’m asleep and that forces my eyelids open. Awake. It works every time. I’ve never died in a dream because of this trick, but it doesn’t stop all the other scary stuff that happened first from haunting me long after I wake up.
Last night I had a doozy. Three of them, actually. The first one was something about vampires and I was trying to evade them by pretending to be one of them and then something something my kids were caught! something something we couldn’t escape. That one was because my hair was touching my neck. I woke up, fixed my hair, and pulled the blankets up over my head, leaving just a breathe-hole. It shook me so bad, I had to take my earplugs out because I could have sworn I could hear my kids crying. But of course they weren’t.
Then I had another one about living in a giant treehouse mansion and I was young and super pretty (still asleep on my stomach, blankets up, hair in place). And then BOOM! all of a sudden there were tigers. Hungry, angry, abnormally humungous white tigers who were in the house and only wanted to eat me. When I finally woke up after what seemed like hours of running and strategically hiding in closets, to no avail because of course all of the walls and doors were made out of glass, my blankets were off of my shoulders.
Theeeeen I had anoooother one. This time I was back in college, living at my parents’ house, hanging with my friend (everything is where it should be) and then out of nowhere we’re late for school and I have no shirts to wear. Not ‘no shirts’ as in I couldn’t decide which one to wear. ‘No shirts’ as in I didn’t own any shirts. Also, no bras. And so, instead of calling it a skip-day, I went to school, topless, and spent the rest of the day trying to cover up my chest with my arms. And, of course, I didn’t know where any of my classes were and there were Barbies. Don’t ask.
Between being an ultra light sleeper, sleeping in a bedroom filled with snorers, and dreaming about being naked vampirical tiger-lunch, it’s no wonder I’m epically exhausted.