I’m blaming the pregnancy that is all around me. First, it was my cousin. Next, my sister announced her bun in the oven. Then, last week, my oldest friend in the world (since 2nd grade) dropped an email bomb on me with the subject line reading, “Don’t freak.” She, already a mother of three, just found out that she is expecting twins! With all of those extra hormones flying about as well as my husband finally home for a week, it’s really no wonder my normally dormant dream life took a turn towards the insane. So, please, feel free to analyze the following post, but no judgy-judgy.

Last Thursday night, I had my first in a series of wacky and incriminating dreams.

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Dream # 1
I found out that my oldest friend (see above) in the world was pregnant…with just one baby. And it was my husband’s. The last thing I remember was my husband pleading and trying to convince me that “we could work this out.”

I woke up crying and angry.

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The following night, the night before Valentine’s Day, all hell broke loose in my dream world.

Dream # 2
My husband and I were on a mysterious, sandy island (think LOST) where I proceeded to stab him in the shoulder blade area with some sort of prison shank. Once he went down, with the shank still in his back, I began freaking out.

“What am I going to do??? I don’t want to go to jail! I think I just killed my husband!”

(This is where is gets really dark, kids.) My cousin appeared out of nowhere with a plan and a shovel. She helped me bury my dead husband’s body in the sand.

My last thought before I woke up was,”How am I going to tell the girls that I killed their father??”

I woke up crying and scared…and a little guilty because it was Valentine’s Day morning and I has just killed the guy laying beside me in my dream.

After a few hours of serious consideration, I realized that dream # 2 could only be a direct result of dream # 1. Why else would I dream-murder my husband? ( I also realized that I read too much National Enquirer. ) Boy, was I relieved. So relieved, in fact, that I decided to fess up and narrate the whole dreamy-time drama to my husband…who became immediately pissed at both my dream-self as well as my cousin’s. (I told him the whole burying in the sand thing was her idea. I had to…it was Valentine’s Day.)

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I was pretty sure the saga was over. Dead is dead, right? Well, then the next night (after a bottle of Valentine’s wine & spicy Thai food) things just got silly.

Dream # 3
My husband was riding in a car with two ladies, who apparently saved his life and were driving him to safety. One of those ladies was Y. I didn’t see who the other gal was but I assumed she was also a blogger. Of course, right?

The last thing I remember thinking was,”I wonder if it’s proper etiquette to leave a blog comment thanking her for saving my husband’s life?” Which, I guess, is what I had in mind as far as suitable gratitude…

When we awoke the next morning, my husband experienced mixed emotions as I informed him of his survival. He was glad that I didn’t kill him but was miffed that I buried him alive. He also wanted to know if the girls that saved him were hot.

Yep…they were hot, honey. Now, roll back over so I can get a good shot, er, I mean, look at your shoulder blade.

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Well, there you have it – all of my cuckoo beans on the table. Now, it’s your turn to fess up. Have you ever had a dream or insane in the membrane dream sequence like this? Come on, don’t leave me hanging…(and don’t call the cops).

*And no, I have not told Y about my crazy ass dream in which she saved my husband from a sure death by sandy shoulder shanking. After being one of my BlogHer roommates last year, she already knows that I’m fucking nuts.

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