“The. Fear. Is. Real.” -Lynnette Higa

I had an 8 PM softball game on Monday night. Among my personal highlights were an RBI hit, two skinned knees, and getting gunned down at the plate only to kick the ball loose from the catcher’s glove. We didn’t win, but even if we did, it wouldn’t have assuaged my hatred of the 8PM game. By the time I get into bed it almost always near 10, and it takes me an hour to actually fall asleep. The result was a massive Tuesday morning headache that for the first time included sensitivity to light. I was having a pretty rough day, but I guess not as rough as Lynnette’s night.

1At 7:50 AM Tuesday morning, I received an ominous and unsolicited text message from Lynnette. It would be two hours before she replied. I spent some of that time considering what this “disturbing dream” could have entailed. Here is what I came up with:

A. The Personal Fear Dream: Lynnette could have had a dream which dealt with one of her own worst fears. This would mean that she was dropped into a pit of live roaches by a zombie gecko; had to facilitate an interpersonal communication/bonding session/ice breaker/reunion/sing-a-long with a group of people she can’t stand; or was made to eat ketchup for all eternity in a set up pretty close to this.

B. The Harm to Loved Ones Dream: Perhaps Lynnette suffered through a dream featuring injuries or even death to her lovable daughter, handsome husband, parents, sister, or other cherished family member. I can’t even begin to speculate on the “how,” but if I had to guess only the most dramatic scenarios possible apply, because when I tell her that I have a pain in my chest, it’s always a heart attack and never heartburn and when Madison accidentally knocks her head, it’s always systemic brain damage and never a bruise. Lynnette is very much like my mom in this way. I love both of these crazy women.

C. The Phil Has Decided To Leave Me For Someone Else Dream: I am not being arrogant. Lynnette’s had this dream on several occasions. Sometimes it’s an actual woman from my past, sometimes it’s a woman she doesn’t know or can’t describe. But they’re alwaysalwaysalways more Asian than her.

3The answer was D. None of the Above.

Well, then. I think this image conveys my shock, surprise, awe, confusion, disdain, and overall disappointment pretty well. Let me just say this: though I am neither Lynnette nor a woman, I can understand why this dream scenario would cause feelings of dread. But I simply cannot understand how this particular dream would keep a person up for the remainder of the night. At worst, you get out of bed, check to make sure your belongings are all still there, gain some peace of mind, then go back to sleep.

I would never speak for or judge my wife, so now she is going to explain this to you and me at the same time:

*Read aloud in a slightly nasally pitch and terribly serious tone.

Someone stole my clothes.  All of them.  As my darling husband has pointed out in previous blog entries, I enjoy options.  I’d rather have small tasting portions of a variety of dishes over one gigantic serving of a single dish.  I’ll always spring for the Disney 5 day Park Hopper ticket over the regular 5 day ticket.  When someone stole my clothes, it left me with one option and one option only: the pajamas I wore from the night before.  I’m certain that my boro boro Omaha Special Olympics t-shirt does not adhere to my work dress code.  (In case you were wondering, I was a volunteer, not a participant.  And yes, I have an affinity for ratty t-shirts that are older than Madison). Considering my love of options and variety, Phil should consider himself lucky that I love him more today than when we first met.  If he so chooses, he can think of himself as the super-sized trough of cioppino that I’ll gladly order over and over.

Someone stole all my makeup brushes as well.  Sure, I could have put makeup on with my fingers, cotton swabs, and other common items but that would mean extra time gathering said items and then applying cosmetic products awkwardly with tools that I am simply not accustomed to. I have a morning routine which allows me to get Madison and myself out the door in an hour and fifteen minutes.  I’m the type of person who will figure out my outfit the night before, complete with accessories.  I do this for the sake of efficiency in the morning.  I hate spending an extra time in the morning contemplating the existential question of “What shall I wear today?” only to have it exponentially lengthened by the discovery that the pants that go with the selected sweater is currently in the hamper or learning that the chosen blouse needs to be ironed.  The whole process can add a whole 15 minutes of hemming and hawing that I would rather spend sleeping in bed.  I like being efficient in the morning.  Which is why it drives me up the wall when Philip fails to return the toothpaste back in its rightful basket on our bathroom counter.  That’s an extra 2 minutes spent looking for the toothpaste that has been led astray.  Two minutes that could have been spent snuggled under the blanket in bed.   I have systematic morning routine that maximizes my sleep time and allows me to not feel rushed as I prepare myself, Madison and Abby ready to tackle the day that lies ahead.

So when the clock is reading 7:50am, I’m nowhere near ready for work, and Madison and Abby haven’t eaten breakfast yet, it is cause for alarm.  Madison has never arrived at school past 7:15 am and I take great pride in it.  I run a tight ship in the morning, and this dream felt all too real.  I couldn’t  fall asleep after that because I was afraid I’d miss my alarm…. or wake up with an empty closet… or have to scrounge for alternate make-up applicators.  If you think my reasoning is silly, then I blame my lack of sleep on Phil’s snoring. 

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