What dreams may come…

Last night, as Rosemary Clooney and I walked down Oak Tree Road and Farmhaven Ave., talking about vocal technique, a flying saucer flew right over us. I didn’t want to say anything… would you want Rosey Clooney to think YOU were crazy? But she pointed upward and said, “Did you see that? It looks like a flying breast!” I laughed and agreed, then told her I had to go home, because I hadn’t had my first drink of the night yet. She seemed disappointed… I sensed it wasn’t often people stayed to have a conversation with her… but nonetheless, I moved on.

Does that sound the least bit upsetting to you?

Me neither!

Nonetheless, when I woke up from what I thought was a pleasant night’s sleep, my son confronted me.

“How long has it been since you took your meds?”

“Uh… yesterday,” I answered.

“Is that true?”


“Did you take all of them?”




“Then why were you screaming all night?”


“It was just like the old days, Mom. You were talking in your sleep all night, and at one point, you started screaming, ‘No! No! No!'”


I did sleep like that, many years ago, when very few things in our lives were going well. It got so bad I started sleeping by myself in the den, because I didn’t want to wake Jeff or the kids with my nocturnal caterwauling.

However, I used to have terrible dreams back then… not pleasant strolls with exceptional vocalists.

At the time, my dreams were filled with the problems of my days, and as I struggled to find solutions, I would eventually find myself screaming… either repeating the word “no,” or calling for my mother.

Of course, I’d get no rest at all, and wake up exhausted.

But honestly, today I woke up feeling as though I’d had a very pleasant evening… a little weird, perhaps, but hardly one mired in desperation.

My son then proceeded to read me the riot act. He says I haven’t been right since I lost my job, and I cannot let this layoff take me down, or I’m going to go under even faster than my old company will. I have to begin working proactively to restore my mental health (or, I suppose, the appearance of mental health). I have to start paying more attention to my ADLs… “Activities of Daily Living.” I have to exercise… turn off the TV and the computer…go outside into the summer sunshine…figure out a way to get or pay for health insurance…take better care of the house…get my ass back into the workforce…pull out of this funk, just as I’ve pulled out of funk after funk after funk in all the years he’s known me.

I can’t let current circumstances get me down, he says.

But I don’t particularly FEEL down!

Lazy, yes. Disoriented, definitely. But down? No! Not really!

At least, I didn’t think I did… but now, if it’s true I’m acting out in my sleep, perhaps I’m a little more worried than I’d realized.





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