I regularly have dreams that John and I are divorcing or that he has cheated on me. They are dreams fraught with the feelings of me wanting to punch him in the face but being unable to do so due to “dream glue,” and therefore I spend the entire dream trying to rain hellfire down upon him, but being unable to move fast enough to catch him. This, of course, both dumbfounds him and cracks him up. I have been known to wake up from a dream so angry with him that I can barely speak to him in the morning which I feel pretty confident I am not alone in doing. The other night however was the topper. While John and I were divorcing in my dream, a zombie sucked my brain out through my ear.
You heard me. A zombie sucked my brain out and not only that, but he did it through my ear. So the whole divorce thing sort of took the back burner. Lucky for John.
So, I blame Rowan for this dream. Well, Rowan and Halloween. Because on top of Rowan having my husband’s butt and passion for books, he also loves Halloween as much as John does. Today, he made me sing him a song for, like, 40 minutes that was sung to the tune of Have Yourself A Merry Little Christmas (shut up! it’s my go-to song, and I am not ashamed) and basically went like this:
“Ro-wan is a boy that sure loves werewolves.
He loves zombies too.
He wants to be a di-no-saur for Halloweeeeeeeeeen!
And Rowan thinks that pumpkins are the cooool-est thiiiiiiings!
Soooooo! Eat pumpkin pie and gooooo trick or treeeeating!”
It changed every time I sang it and pretty much got worse and worse until I put an end to it.
Rowan is a child that walks around the house singing, “Lap up the blood! Lap up the blood!” And when we saw the most recent family of bobcats in our yard, he declared that he would, “like to find a dead human to offer to the bobcats so they aren’t so hungry.” He asks me questions like, “Mama? If your eyeball pops out, can you put it back in?” Which reminds me that when he was about two and a half years old, he was in the kitchen while I was cleaning and listening to the Halloween episode of This American Life, which contains four spooky segments. His favorite was the story of a woman who was attacked by a raccoon—he listened to this about 1,023 times. His second favorite was David Sedaris reading his short story about spending time volunteering in a city morgue. His favorite part of the story is when David Sedaris sees the corpse of a person that has fallen from a great height, which apparently makes your eyes pop out of your head—“like those joke glasses!” My child, at age 2 1/2, was walking around the house reciting that line over and over and over again. Play dates were interesting that year. I had some explaining to do.
I don’t really get the allure of creepy. I had a friend once (and wish I still did—she was way more interesting than me) who had the ability to see ghosts since she was a child. I liked her but, yeah . . . I totally didn’t believe her. She seemed sincere and sort of traumatized by her “ability,” which made me feel both bad and annoyed at the same time, but one night at a sleepover at my house, she told me that she was “visited” constantly and, in fact! At that exact moment! She! Was! Being! Visited! I was sort of annoyed all over again, so I left the room (there were other people in it, I’m not a total bitch) and never heard who she was being visited by. I’m guessing someone forlorn and harboring a great amount of resentment over their death.
That said, when John and I lived in the most ghetto apartment on the planet*, the night before we moved out of it I saw a ghost. You must know that I am basically a nonbeliever. John, on the other hand . . . well, let’s just say that when I saw it, I knew I couldn’t tell him, at least not right away. It was the middle of the night, and I had to wait until it was hours later, well into daylight, to tell him. Still, he was totally freaked out. I think he actually shuddered, and of course, he was thrilled that we were in the process of moving out.
People ask me (when I tell them my ghost story) if I am sure I was awake. I can assure you that I was. I can also assure you that I saw an old man with white hair, thin and probably 5’10” tall, wearing a black suit and a white button-down shirt with a black tie walk slowly across my bedroom, turn slowly around and look at me. I gasped and he disappeared. It made it hard to fall back asleep, but only because of the gasp and increase in heart rate. He wasn’t all that scary. He was like a sharp-dressed grandpa ghost.
I don’t get creepy, but I definitely get weird. One of the weirdest things I have ever seen happened in high school, when my step mom Kelly and I were driving in downtown Syracuse, and all of a sudden a nun in full habit ran right in front of our car, yanked up her skirt, leapt over a guard rail, and kept running. In her tennis shoes. It was one of the funniest and most unnerving things I have seen because, dude! Where was she going? Not to mention, nuns can wear tennis shoes?
I also saw the devil once, in the clouds, while hiking in Aravaipa Canyon. It freaked me out so much that I have never eaten mushrooms again. Wait. I wonder? Do you think? Hmmm . . . maybe . . .
And now, as we approach this Halloween season, I am trying, for the sake of my husband and children, to get excited for this holiday. I am considering dressing up as a sexy homeless person (mostly because I just bring the sexy no matter what, y’all, and I can wear big clothing in order to eat a lot of candy and not appear bloated, and get away with it) and doing some hardcore trick or treating. I want some freaking Kit Kats and Rollo’s. I’m going to try and pretend to be scared, work hard not to roll my eyes at every stupid store-bought decoration, and I will allow my kids to eat like, two pieces of candy. Because I’m an awesome mother. And hopefully, when I lay my head down that night, I will have dreams that don’t make me wake up wanting to punch my husband in the face.
*Stay tuned. This apartment deserves its own post.