Day 22: It's only a dream

(Giorgio A. Tsoukalos from "Ancient Aliens")

I tried to scream...I couldn't get a voice to come out of my mouth.  I tried to roll over, to twitch an arm, to twitch a finger.  I tried like crazy to open my eyes...but they just stayed closed with only a sliver of barely imperceptible light peering through.

I told myself "It's only a dream...any minute now you'll wake up.  Any second now a cat will meow in the hallway and my brain will zap me out of this semi-conscious frozen state that I'm in."

I had seen all the documentaries and looked it up on the Internet.  All those episodes of that wacky-haired guy, the "Ancient Alien Theorist" or whatever he and those dozen other whack-jobs on that "Ancient Alien" show on The History Channel call themselves. I've read all about it: All those people who were visited by aliens in the bedroom...all those people who had their anus probed?  All those people were just in a state of sleep paralysis and were probably just farting.  Sure, I made up that "farting thing" and I thought it was pretty good.  I even tried to make a smile...but my lips lay there just like two limp worms...the ones you see in the driveway when you go to get the mail...the ones that didn't make it all the way across because the sun started drying them out.  I was beginning to feel they were a bit parched, too...but there was no drool, luckily.  I hate waking up with my face in the wet spot.  I hate thinking it lies there "in the wet spot". My thoughts start wandering -- to why women are always fated to "lie in the wet spot"...why can't guys lie in it?  It's icky. Those thoughts.  I'll think other ones instead.

I'm wondering when the Ambien will wear off...it's probably due any minute now.  It's probably only been a couple hours since I've taken it.  It doesn't work well anymore since I've taken it for like eight years.  I take a lot of it, too.  I hate Ambien.  It makes me walk around the house calling people and typing weird shit online.  I'm probably typing weird shit right now and I just don't know it.  I probably think I'm still sleeping.  I bet that's what's going on.
  

Ambien. 

Why can't I clean the house after I take it?  I've weeded the yard before while I was on it.  I've moved huge Belgian blocks from one side of the yard to the other...right by the pool...lugged them over somehow.  Woke up and didn't even realize I had done it.  My son forbade me to ever go outside again after taking it...he says I'll probably fall in the pool and drown.  Maybe I'm in the pool right now.  How would I know if I was in the pool? 

"Oh, stop it, Mariann."  I tell myself.  "I'd be wet.  A helluva LOT wetter than waking up on the pillow full of drool...plus that 'other' thing.  Ick."  I try to shrug - I try to do that funny thing that one comedian lady did...about sex...making that "wuuuhuuuuhhgh" noise...but I can't.  I'm stifling back a laugh...but I'm not making a sound. 

But, wait...seriously...maybe I'm really in the pool.  Nah...as soon as I hit the icy water, I'd wake up.  It's cold outside and I'm only in my nitegown.  I know I'm in my nitegown because I rarely even change out of one nowadays since my daughter's gone off to college -- I don't have to shuffle her to school and back, and I don't have a job...and I don't have to go anywhere...it's kinda silly to change into clothes that only my son and cats would see.  Plus, my bra hurts.  I always can't wait to get out of it when I go somewhere...sometimes, I unhinge it in the car and just throw a coat over what I'm wearing...because it hurts a lot.  It hurts because I had a badoodle amount of lung collapses and two lung operations to glue my lung and the pleura together so it doesn't collapse again.  If I breathe deeply enough...it hurts.  

I'll take a deep breath...that's what I'll do...that'll wake me up.  The pain of breathing in a bunch of air will shock me back into reality. 

"Ready...set...go!" 

Nothing.

Oh, c'mon...this isn't funny now.  Seriously...not funny.

Oh, good...someone just turned on the light.  Whew.

I can just barely make something out through that sliver in my semi-opened eyes.  It's the glint of a knife!  It's a fucking knife!  It's a God-damned fucking knife!  Oh...my God...someone's walking towards me...wearing gloves...and carrying a knife. "Wake up, wake up, dammit!  Wake the fuck up!"

Oh...shit...oh shit...oh shit...it's not just a regular knife...I can see it now...it's...

...it's...

...it's a coroner's scalpel!

Okay, that's my story for "It's only a dream" - I kinda creeped myself out there so I am gonna stop.  I have to take my Ambien right now.

Or...maybe I'll wait a bit.

A long bit.

Now...go on over to "We Work for Cheese" and read what other stuff others have come up with for Day 22 of the "30 Days Minus Two of Writing" challenge.