I woke up this morning angry at my wife. When I got out of the shower, I told her as much.
"Why?" she asked. "Did I flush on you again?"
"No." For once it wasn't that. But she does have an uncanny knack of flushing the upstairs toilet as soon as I enter the shower downstairs. Makes for an eye-opening, genital-shrinking, freezing way to kick off your morning. "No, you woke me up at four A.M. because of what you did in my nightmare."
In my dream, a friend of hers called, asked her if she'd be interested in killing someone. All in the name of science, of course. At first she declined. But I saw the spark in her eye, her killer cogs turning. Soon, she said she'd like to do it, wanted to know if I'd like to join in on the weekend excursion. I hemmed and hawed, then gave into her. It went against my better judgment, but I saw how much it meant to her. So six of us got a motel room (three couples, three double-size beds) and proceeded to collect three people to murder. I chickened out, lay on the bed with the pillow over my head while the wacky antics ensued around me. At some point my in-laws showed up. The next morning it was time to check out. But there was a strange Hawaiian-shirted cop in the room, asking questions. The cops were closing in and...
I woke up. Couldn't believe my wife put me through that.
But that's unfair, I feel you thinking. You have to understand, I'm the guy who grounded my daughter years ago because of her behavior in one of my dreams.
The weird thing is, this is a variation on a recurring nightmare I have. I'm always somehow involved in a murder (usually an accident), I try and cover it up using the most convoluted methods in the world (yet at the time, they make perfect sense), and the cops are ready to nail me.
Huh. I told my daughter about these nightmares a few days ago. She launched into full-on psychoanalytical mode. She said, "Dad, either you feel guilty about something or...all of the macabre events you write about are getting to you."
Maybe I am taking my work to bed with me.