2003-07-30 - 4:22 p.m.
The topic for this month�s collaboration for On Display is �under the stairs.�
UNDER
No matter how adult I seem during the day, the person who sleeps in my bed at night is six years old. She believes in, and fears, white, furry, flying fish with sharp teeth like piranas. She worries about the monkey from �The Wizard of Oz� snatching her up and whisking her away to the witch. She panics at the thought of the large blue snake that sways like a cobra, has huge venomous fangs, and can walk upright at the oddest moments.
It has not escaped my notice that the things that haunt me tend to be creatively enhanced creatures. I've never been an animal lover but I am not sure which came first--the nightmares or the dislike. In any event, ordinary house cats gain size, particularly in their claws. Snakes acquire feet and fangs. Monkeys fly. And as for that furry fish, well, I have met few real fish with fur.
But the biggest theme of these nightmares is �under.� My nocturnal, inner six year old needs to steer clear of under the stairs, under the bed, and under a rock. Never mind that the only �under the stairs� is my waking world is in the basement, the bed is a platform bed with drawers right down to the floor, and no rock graces the house (although I suspect Day-Hay still has a stone collection someplace.)
I do not know why I seem to have more nightmares than the average person. I go through periods of time with frequent nightmares and then they fade for a while. I can see no rhyme or reason to whether or when. But I am lucky that one of Mr. Philately�s good points is that he puts up with being awakened by whimpering or, worse, a scream. He learned early on that one of his jobs as my husband was to murmur periodically, �It�s okay. It�s not real. It�s only a nightmare.� He learned his job so well that he can do it without coming awake enough to remember in the episode in the morning. He barely notices when I cuddle up next to him and try to settle myself back into sleep. He just snores, loudly, rhythmically, and reassuringly. He even forgave me the night I had to strip the bed to convince myself that the snake was gone. However thrilled he might have been to have me stripping off clothes in the middle of the night, stripping off the bedclothes is different. (I have no idea why.)
But I do know that during a nightmare week (or weeks or even months), even during the day, I am not completely comfortable with under. Yes, I will look under a rock�but I will think about it first. Yes, I will look under a bed (although looking under Day-Hay�s is not for the faint of heart) but I may hestitate. But the stairs? No, I am not looking under the stairs. I know what might be under my basement stairs�and I shudder to think what my nights could transform those mice into.
LAST YEAR: Sincerely, Devil�s Advocate
TWO YEARS AGO: The Closet of Anxieties
IN CASE YOU MISSED THEM:
Zit
Justice and Peace
Enemy of the People, Part II
Terrorism in a Small Town
Who Wants to Marry My Husband?
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Copyright 2006 by Ellen |
