I have had the craziest dreams since I got pregnant. Once I was out clubbing with Angelina Jolie, neither of us were pregnant and we looked hot. You know, Angie and I hang out when she’s in town. We’re like *this*.
Last night’s dreams were so vivid and I remember 2 of them. Husband and I were out at dinner and I went to the rest room. It was one of those fancy ladies rooms with a huge lounge in the front with lots of mirrors and soft benches. I go in, I pee, and when I come out, George and Brad (I assume I don’t need to use a last name for them) were sitting in the lounge, in the corner. Just sitting there, dressed all nice, jacket, button down shirt, not stuffy, kinda fun, and HOT. They both smile those smiles at me. There are other women around but they are the only guys. Well, it is the ladies room after all.
So, of course I say hi to the boys and then sit next to them and we have a little chat. I have no idea about what. In the dream they are just smiling and looking pretty, and nod once in a while, while we make small talk as if I’m the most interesting woman they have ever met. Then of course I ask to have my picture taken with them and they of course oblige. Of course I happen to have my camera with me. That was a nice dream.
Dream number 2:
I’m in a hotel room hiding under a bathroom vanity. I hear 2 men fighting and I can see parts of the fight reflected in a mirror if I move just a little bit. One of them has a huge metal or wood bracelet on and as they are fighting it bangs against a desk, the wall, the floor… I am an FBI agent. I know that my FBI agent partner is running this way, to this hotel room as we speak, but I know he’s not going to get here in time. One guy is going to kill the other and then kill himself. This is exactly what happens next and I see it all in the reflection in the mirror. My partner doesn’t show up. When the coast is clear I run out of there and head back to base with every intention of disclosing what just went down.
The weird thing is though, I don’t. I don’t tell anyone anything. Something is fishy but I don’t know what it is. Maybe the men were agents too, maybe not. Something isn’t right so I don’t say anything. Next thing I know I’m being questioned about what happened at the crime scene. I say I don’t know anything, that I wasn’t there. In my subconscious I’m wondering why I don’t own up to being a witness, but nothing changes. The agents still suspect me as having a hand in the murders but can’t prove anything yet, although I’m denying it all. Another agent comes in and says that they may have something on the tape. They take me to another room where we all watch a video, they had been filming the room where the murder happened. There is an instant where you can see the reflection of a person in a mirror. It’s too distorted to tell right now, but I know it’s my face. I’m confused. If they taped the room, they know what went down. They know I had nothing to do with it, I was just hiding. I lied about being there though. But why do they keep interrogating me? This keeps going through my head, and I flash on the guy’s bracelet in my mind, that has something to do with it. Then I wake up. What the hell?
Any juicy pregnancy dreams to share?
Later this week: reasons I’m the queen of hindsight.