Dreaming

by Kris Underwood

I can't remember my dreams worth anything these days. I know I do dream: upon waking I can recall snippets of the night's dream, until it quickly vanishes completely from my fuzzy brain. In place of that I see my daughter's face inches away from my own, or I am leaping out of bed because she has grabbed the glass of water I thought I left well out of her reach the night before.

When all is said and done, I can't remember a damn thing about that dream I was going to write down.

I got into the habit of writing down my dreams a little over ten years ago (my god, has it been that long?!); about the same time I started journaling, probably. It was very sporadic at first (both the journaling and dream recording), but became completely habitual (the dreams) around 1998-99.

By then, I had accumulated a massive amount of hand-written scribblings--some completely indecipherable--on loose paper, on the backs of receipts and lists, in my journal, on weird stationery and even on the occasional notepad advertising some trucking company my Dad was working with at the time.

I sat down one day and organized all of these papers by date into a binder. That one binder has grown into three or four today, all filled to capacity with stories from the night. There are nearly four hundred recorded dreams. The original count must be higher than that, but some papers were, regrettably, lost in the transfer from hand-written to type-written, as well as to poor storage decisions on my part.

I've always had an active dream life, I suppose you could call it. Full-color, movie-type stuff--entire plot lines and characters right down to the most minute detail, whether they be made up from my own mind or outside influences: some actor of a movie I saw the other night (Alan Rickman), or a cultural icon (Dracula), or the guy I saw at the grocery store three months ago. Oh, and the pregnancy dreams? Those were the craziest of all: vivid colors--even more so than usual--and miscellaneous sex with ex-boyfriends and people I didn't even know! Those were always... enjoyable. I also had intense family-gathering dreams all throughout my pregnancy.

I miss being able to recall the dreams; I miss the symbolism, the meaning, and the weird happenings. It is incredibly frustrating for me. I suppose with the passage of time, when I am not so preoccupied, I will probably be able to remember them well enough to write full pages once more.

'Til then... I'll keep dreaming

The Author

Kris Underwood's credits include The Whole Mom , Lilith and, forthcoming, Mom Writer's Literary Magazine and MotherVerse. She has participated in several readings over the years, including the Bear Pond Books open reading in Montpelier, Vermont and the Poets of the Palm Beaches in Florida. Visit her online at Writing in the Mountains.