And Wednesday, Too
Boob Week continues...
Gimme a hand?
I can't tell you how many movies and television shows I've seen where a character wakes up from a nightmare sitting bolt upright in bed screaming. I always thought, "oh, give me a break! Overact much?" Because, thankfully for me, I don't suffer from this kind of thing. I rarely have bad dreams and when I do it's mostly just a bad or sad feeling that makes me wake myself up to stop it. I roll over, maybe think about the dream for a bit, then go back to sleep. Not since I was a kid have I actually made any kind of yelling sound and I don't think I've ever been so scared that I've moved to get out of the bed.
Oh, yeah. Except this one time.
It was years and years ago and I had been working in the Advertising industry. I've talked before about how horrible I found it, and at the time I was working crazy long hours for people I couldn't stand and getting paid crap. I was exhausted physically and emotionally and really looking forward to a nice long weekend of rest and relaxation with my friends. We had rented a couple of cabins in the Muskoka area (cottage country as it's called) for me and 7 of my closest friends. I was staying in one cabin with my friends Donna and Gary and Cara. Donna and I shared a room with two single beds in it and Gary and Cara had the other bedroom right beside us (the walls were paper thin, man).
Anyway, we had been up there one full day already. A day filled with barbecueing, sitting on the porch in the sun listening to music, chatting, laughter and of course: sweet, sweet beer. I went to bed fairly early (probably around 2:00) because as I said I was still exhausted. I think Donna followed me soon after, but I was already asleep by the time she went to bed. I began to dream, I can't really remember how it started out, but slowly it turned itself into a not so nice dream. Goofy, yes, nice, no.
So in my dream there was this hand, see. It was a disembodied hand (a thing I must point out I have never found anything but laughably silly in movies of same) and it was out for blood. Specifically, mine and my friend Donna's blood. It wanted to kill us, to strangle the life out of us and then, I don't know, maybe retire to a nice island somewhere? Who knows? But in any case I watched in my dream where this hand had killed others and was now after me. It was now in our bedroom. It was now crawling up the sheets to get me. It was now around my throat. I had had about enough of this nonsense, so I began to wake myself up.
The only really strange thing was that when I did, there was actually a dead hand clutching my throat.
"HOLY JESUS FUCK! WE'VE GOT TO GET OUT OF HERE! WE'VE GOT TO GET OUT OF HERE, IT'S GOING TO KILL US! IT'S GOING TO GET US! DONNA, GET UP, WE'VE GOT TO GET*crash, thump, bang!!* Ow."
In my haste to get myself the fuck out of my deathbed, my feet got tangled in the sheets and I had fallen on the floor between our beds, making me fall directly onto my knees and crack my head on Donna's bed, which helpfully woke me right up. It was pitch black and I was still reasonably sure there was a dead hand in my bed, but through a herculean effort I made myself stand up calmly and walk over to find the light switch. I mean, there's no point in helping out a disembodied hand that's trying to kill you. You should really make the little fucker work for it.
Since my outburst Donna was saying "what is it? Alanis, what's wrong? Are you okay?" Still shaking like a paintmixer, I found the light switch and turned it on. I slowly turned around, not wanting to tell Donna what had just dawned on me. Her 29-year-old adult, responsible friend had just screamed bloody murder and scared the bejeezus out of her for no good reason. It was all just a scawy dweam!
As I explained the dream to Donna I realized what must have happened. I had fallen asleep on my stomach with my arm underneath me and my hand touching my face. The full weight of my body naturally made my arm and hand fall asleep and my delightful subconscious whipped up a lovely little tale to try and get me to roll over. It's all kind of funny, really. It would have been one thing if I had been at home, alone in my apartment I could have gotten over it sooner, but nooooo, I had to go and have the night terrors in front of everybody in the world like a fool. Man, did I feel stupid.
Except, hey, the walls are paper thin here. How come Gary and Cara haven't even moved? Hmph! Some friends they are! They're going to be the last people I help when the real disembodied hand comes for us all!
Anyway, Donna and I had a good laugh about it, me feeling like a moron, her trying to make me feel better by telling me a story about a friend's brother who had had eye surgery once, so he had to have patches over both his eyes. His hands feel asleep on top of him and he shouted out "who's there!? Who is it?!" until his sister had to come in the room and say, "it's you, dumbass." I did feel a little better after that.
Still, knowing intellectually what must have happened did not make me feel any easier when I had to get back into the bed. After double-checking to make sure there was indeed no severed hand in the bed, I was wide awake for hours thinking about how powerful the mind is and how it can make you believe anything, even something as stupid as a hand that, having come apart from the rest of the body, still has the power of independent movement and an insatiable desire to kill people. I mean, is that what my hands are always thinking? "Oh, man, once I lose this load of a human being and I'm on my own, I am so going on a killing spree! Muwahahahaha!" That in itself is disturbing.
After falling asleep on the couch, the next day all of my friends made proper fun of me and my rugburned knees (yeah, yeah, I know all the jokes). I answered it all with as much jocularity as I could, and we all got a lot of fun out of it. In time, my wounds healed and I could actually fall asleep on my stomach again. Reason had returned to her throne and all was right with the world. For a little while, anyway.
Boob Week continues...
Gimme a hand?
I can't tell you how many movies and television shows I've seen where a character wakes up from a nightmare sitting bolt upright in bed screaming. I always thought, "oh, give me a break! Overact much?" Because, thankfully for me, I don't suffer from this kind of thing. I rarely have bad dreams and when I do it's mostly just a bad or sad feeling that makes me wake myself up to stop it. I roll over, maybe think about the dream for a bit, then go back to sleep. Not since I was a kid have I actually made any kind of yelling sound and I don't think I've ever been so scared that I've moved to get out of the bed.
Oh, yeah. Except this one time.
It was years and years ago and I had been working in the Advertising industry. I've talked before about how horrible I found it, and at the time I was working crazy long hours for people I couldn't stand and getting paid crap. I was exhausted physically and emotionally and really looking forward to a nice long weekend of rest and relaxation with my friends. We had rented a couple of cabins in the Muskoka area (cottage country as it's called) for me and 7 of my closest friends. I was staying in one cabin with my friends Donna and Gary and Cara. Donna and I shared a room with two single beds in it and Gary and Cara had the other bedroom right beside us (the walls were paper thin, man).
Anyway, we had been up there one full day already. A day filled with barbecueing, sitting on the porch in the sun listening to music, chatting, laughter and of course: sweet, sweet beer. I went to bed fairly early (probably around 2:00) because as I said I was still exhausted. I think Donna followed me soon after, but I was already asleep by the time she went to bed. I began to dream, I can't really remember how it started out, but slowly it turned itself into a not so nice dream. Goofy, yes, nice, no.
So in my dream there was this hand, see. It was a disembodied hand (a thing I must point out I have never found anything but laughably silly in movies of same) and it was out for blood. Specifically, mine and my friend Donna's blood. It wanted to kill us, to strangle the life out of us and then, I don't know, maybe retire to a nice island somewhere? Who knows? But in any case I watched in my dream where this hand had killed others and was now after me. It was now in our bedroom. It was now crawling up the sheets to get me. It was now around my throat. I had had about enough of this nonsense, so I began to wake myself up.
The only really strange thing was that when I did, there was actually a dead hand clutching my throat.
"HOLY JESUS FUCK! WE'VE GOT TO GET OUT OF HERE! WE'VE GOT TO GET OUT OF HERE, IT'S GOING TO KILL US! IT'S GOING TO GET US! DONNA, GET UP, WE'VE GOT TO GET*crash, thump, bang!!* Ow."
In my haste to get myself the fuck out of my deathbed, my feet got tangled in the sheets and I had fallen on the floor between our beds, making me fall directly onto my knees and crack my head on Donna's bed, which helpfully woke me right up. It was pitch black and I was still reasonably sure there was a dead hand in my bed, but through a herculean effort I made myself stand up calmly and walk over to find the light switch. I mean, there's no point in helping out a disembodied hand that's trying to kill you. You should really make the little fucker work for it.
Since my outburst Donna was saying "what is it? Alanis, what's wrong? Are you okay?" Still shaking like a paintmixer, I found the light switch and turned it on. I slowly turned around, not wanting to tell Donna what had just dawned on me. Her 29-year-old adult, responsible friend had just screamed bloody murder and scared the bejeezus out of her for no good reason. It was all just a scawy dweam!
As I explained the dream to Donna I realized what must have happened. I had fallen asleep on my stomach with my arm underneath me and my hand touching my face. The full weight of my body naturally made my arm and hand fall asleep and my delightful subconscious whipped up a lovely little tale to try and get me to roll over. It's all kind of funny, really. It would have been one thing if I had been at home, alone in my apartment I could have gotten over it sooner, but nooooo, I had to go and have the night terrors in front of everybody in the world like a fool. Man, did I feel stupid.
Except, hey, the walls are paper thin here. How come Gary and Cara haven't even moved? Hmph! Some friends they are! They're going to be the last people I help when the real disembodied hand comes for us all!
Anyway, Donna and I had a good laugh about it, me feeling like a moron, her trying to make me feel better by telling me a story about a friend's brother who had had eye surgery once, so he had to have patches over both his eyes. His hands feel asleep on top of him and he shouted out "who's there!? Who is it?!" until his sister had to come in the room and say, "it's you, dumbass." I did feel a little better after that.
Still, knowing intellectually what must have happened did not make me feel any easier when I had to get back into the bed. After double-checking to make sure there was indeed no severed hand in the bed, I was wide awake for hours thinking about how powerful the mind is and how it can make you believe anything, even something as stupid as a hand that, having come apart from the rest of the body, still has the power of independent movement and an insatiable desire to kill people. I mean, is that what my hands are always thinking? "Oh, man, once I lose this load of a human being and I'm on my own, I am so going on a killing spree! Muwahahahaha!" That in itself is disturbing.
After falling asleep on the couch, the next day all of my friends made proper fun of me and my rugburned knees (yeah, yeah, I know all the jokes). I answered it all with as much jocularity as I could, and we all got a lot of fun out of it. In time, my wounds healed and I could actually fall asleep on my stomach again. Reason had returned to her throne and all was right with the world. For a little while, anyway.
posted by Alanis at
9:59 AM
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