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Reading through my posts lately, and the things I've felt like writing but haven't, I wonder, how the eff did I become this person? This total downer that's always complaining and thinking that as long as I throw in the caveat "I have a lot to be grateful but..." that it's okay to just rail about life?

When did this happen to me? Or wait, have I always been this grumpy? Paul and I have this running joke that we've become that grumpy old couple on the porch, shaking their fists at "those young kids at their loud music" way before our time. The mental image is funny, but it's not really a joke.

Last night I had this very clear dream. Like most dreams it didn't make a whole lot of sense, but reflecting on it this morning it's meaning seems obvious.

I was at my parents home, in my sister's room which has a walk-in closet and I wanted to take a shower. Naturally, the closet has a shower inside so I walk in and find a shower head amongst all my mom and sister's dresses. Naturally. Anyway, there was a cat that looked a lot like my cat sitting in a pile of clothes but even in my dream it didn't make sense to me that there was a cat there (the shower in the closet though? made perfect sense. go figure). I remember thinking it must be a hallucination so I reached out to pet the cat and it clamped down and bit my hand and wouldn't let go. I knew Paul was just outside the door so I started yelling for him to come help me and he rushed in and pried the cat off my hand. Then the cat disappeared and everything went fuzzy and I asked him what happened and he told me that I had been biting my own hand. I looked down and saw human bite marks, really deep impressions across the top of my hand.

At first I wondered if maybe Taz had actually bit me for some reason in the middle of the night. Then Paul said maybe it means I'm afraid of someone close to me betraying me because I love cats, which, I love him but...?

I'm going with a more literal interpretation...which is I had to rely on someone else to keep me from gnawing my own hand off. My subconscious is telling me to quit being so damn self-destructive.

Labels: Depression, Life, to sleep perchance to dream