I must really be feeling LOST-deprived: last night I had a fabulous dream in which I was in love with Jack Shepherd and we were talking on the phone. If that isn't obsessed, I don't know what is. I guess since LOST is no longer on TV, my brain has taken over for the ABC network and has started airing its own original episodes of LOST.
There's nothing quite like a nice satisfying dream that you actually manage to remember the next morning. It could be romantic, like mine was, or action-packed with superheros or obstacles to overcome, or it could be funny and have you wake up chuckling, or it could be magical, such as the one flying dream I had that I'll never forget. I wish I was as disciplined about keeping a dream journal as I was about writing in my blog. I must add this to my "To Do" list.
As I write this post, I can't help noticing Penny taking a catnap on the couch across from me. Sometimes she stretches out her legs and separates all her toes, in what appears to be an unconscious reflex as she sleeps the evening away. Other times, a twitchy movement will catch my eye and cause me to look over, only to see her whiskers quivering spasmodically, almost in unison with her hind legs and front paws. Sometimes she'll emit a little groan, as if in her dream she let the mouse get away (or perhaps centipede, since we've discovered that she's an excellent centipede hunter).
I'm also reminded of what people look and sound like when they're dreaming. I've been known to do that embarrassing twitch as I'm about to fall asleep that not only makes my heart leap for a second but also wakes me up and causes me to look around to make sure no one saw my extremities jerking around in such an unseemly manner. Although I'm not a big talker in my sleep (according to my husband it only happens from time to time), from what I've heard, my father is often overheard arguing in the depths of slumber about some unfair call made by a referee, umpire, or some other figure of authority (at this point I think the only consolation my mom has after being woken up without hope of falling back asleep is giggling about my dad's somnolent chattering the next morning over coffee). I've even caught my husband in mid-conversation a few times in the middle of the night, although it's almost impossible to reconstruct the context the next morning, as the dream has already come and retired into the inner recesses of his mind.
If I had to choose, I'd rather dream than watch the dreamers, hands down. But that doesn't mean I can't still get a kick out of spying on the inhabitants of Dream Land once in awhile.
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