Today I slept two and a half hours past my alarm. It was off when I woke up. I must have just turned it off. I promptly had a heart attack upon realizing today was indeed NOT Saturday but Tuesday, and it was NINE and I was LATE. I remember Mr. leaving at five-thirtyish. I was dead to the world after that, until nine. All I remember is dreaming about my old house, but I can’t recall details.
Yesterday, after Mr. left, I had one of those dreams where I feel like I am awake. A dark figure appeared in the bedroom shortly after I heard the garage door close and the truck pull away. It walked to his side of the bed, a bit thinner and taller than he. Then it tried to smother me with its shadowy hands. I struggled to get away from it, but I felt very sluggish, drugged, moving in slow motion. Finally I broke free, and slowly made my way toward the kitchen, trying to turn lights on as I went, but none would work. The shadowy figure followed me and went around me to the dining room. I retreated back to the bedroom after realizing it was controlling the lights and I hid under the covers. Then my alarm went off. And the lights worked.
Yesterday was one year since I had my beloved Z-dog put down because of bone cancer. Today would have been the day I took off from work to grieve. I didn’t realize this until I picked up my keys to go to lunch and thought “I suppose it has been long enough.” Then I checked my calendar in Outlook from last year.
I should take off my “I love my Rottweiler” keychain.