Maybe I'll just write an entire series on my dreams. Because that, right there, would fill up this blog and then some. Also, why does my mother keep playing such an integral role in my subconscious? A few nights ago she wouldn't leave my bedside but last night I was getting ready for my wedding and she was off doing who-knows-what but certainly not ATTENDING TO MY EVERY NEED.
I do not know where these dreams are coming from. First, I'm doing absolutely nothing but dying of meningitis. Then, I'm running around like an insane chicken with mange trying to walk down the aisle.
My wedding was supposed to happen like RIGHT THAT MINUTE and y'all, I was NOT ready. I had done my own hair which, let's just face it, should have tipped me off that I was dreaming because, JUST NO. I mean, I am all for other people doing their own hair for their wedding but I am not one of those girls. I am definitely a sit down and get 'er done by someone who knows what she is doing kind of girl. So my hair was longer than it is and blonde and gorgeous. Like, seriously. I'd a hair transplant, apparently. I'd curled it into beautiful waves--well beyond my own hair expertise--and it was going to be the talk of the reception, I kid you not.
"Wow, did you see her hair?" one would stammer.
"Stunning," another would reply.
Except that, then, there was a tiara involved. Apparently, there was no veil. Unlike your average, every day, run of the mill tiaras, however, this one clasped together in the back to make it look like a crown.
Do I subconsciously think I'm the queen of the world?
And I could NOT figure out what to do. Was I supposed to pull my hair out and have it clasp underneath my hair, at the nape of my neck? Was I actually supposed to sport it like a crown? Why had I not done a trial run before that very moment?
THEN, the wedding coordinator started sending people down the aisle. Kids, I was NOT EVEN IN MY DRESS.
Thankfully, my bridesmaids, none of which was helping me with my hair or my dress or at managing my life, must have crept down the aisle at snail speed because A LOT transpired between the hair crisis and the moment when I blessedly woke up really having to use the bathroom.
So, off went my bridesmaids and I was alone.
Here's the part where I remind you that my mother was SITTING VIGIL AT MY DEATHBED IN MY LAST MEMORABLE DREAM. Because I do not know what was going on with her in this particular nighttime reverie. "There you are," she exclaimed as she waltzed into the room. It wasn't weird in the dream but now that I am awake and coherent, where the heck else would I have been?
"Oh, you made it," I said. All chill and nonchalant like. Oh, you came. Meh. It's cool either way. I mean you're my mom and I'm your only daughter but if you hadn't come it would have been fine. Now that you're here, how's my hair?
I had finally managed to get my hair somewhat acceptable with the tiara-crown but she started playing with it and it fell down and we had to start over which, of course we had time for because there were still four bridesmaids in the hallway, yet to walk down the aisle. I tried not to cry as she worked on my hair but my eyes were misty and my mascara started to run anyway. "Stop," she told me. "Or you'll have to fix your makeup."
"Hurry!" I kept telling her. As though MY wedding was going to happen without ME.
She got my hair back to being gorgeous even with the giant, sparkly crown. Then we got me into the dress. The dress stopped at my mid calf for reasons unknown to me because I would not wear a wedding dress that stopped above my feet. Not because there is anything wrong with that but because, personal preference. All of this to say, I had to wear shoes. There was no not wearing shoes because everyone could see my feet.
AND MY SHOES WERE NO WHERE! NO WHERE.
And the last bridesmaid was down the aisle.
For some reason, there were countless boxes of shoes but none of them were the right shoes. I pulled out bright blue sandals. I threw the lids off of Nike running shoes. I found black Reef flip flops. But the silvery heels that I was supposed to be wearing were no where in sight. (Who was I marrying anyway? Because I would not have worn heels to marry my Hobbit.)
I was PANICKING, people. I mean it. I could hear the crowd getting restless. I was all emotions and craziness and WHERE ARE MY SHOES? My mom was on the other side of the room throwing lids off of more boxes. "Are these them?" she'd ask, showing me slippers and loafers and snow boots. I think that maybe, in this dream, she was three sheets to the wind or something because SNOW BOOTS? With a wedding dress?
And as my level of panic continued to rise, I suddenly woke up.
I padded my way into the bathroom, flipped on the light and looked at myself in the mirror. Then, I audibly said, "What kind of tiara fastens in the back?" The important questions in life always confront me in my sleep.