Hi all! Please excuse the following shameless promotion before I return you to your regularly scheduled blog post. You can now also find my work on the new writing and photography website The Ten Three: it’s a fresh take on the idea that a picture is worth one thousand words and the site just launched yesterday. There’s a lot of great work and collaboration between writers and photographers. My first essay premiered today and it’s a bit more serious and personal than my writing here, so feel free to check it out for a change of pace! Any and all feedback is much appreciated.
I am afraid of everything. Sometimes it amazes me that I am able to get through an entire day without having a fear-induced heart attack. A combination of an overactive imagination and being highly -caffeinated puts me in constant distress.
I’m dog-sitting again this week and last night I could not get myself to go to sleep. I was convinced that while I was walking the dog, a bald man had snuck into the house and was waiting in the shower to kill me. And I checked the shower 17 times. But I was still convinced he was there, lurking.
Growing up I had weird nightmares and I think that’s what is continuing to cripple me at the ripe old age of 22. One involved a boxing match with a giant kangaroo and that’s the number one reason I have not yet traveled to Australia.
The worst nightmare I ever had was about Jafar. Yes, the Disney villain. I was about 6 years old and in the dream, my mom and I were driving somewhere in the old blue minivan. We pulled up to the Sultan’s castle since our errands had somehow taken us to Agrabah. My mom pulled into a space, and suddenly, the palace guards (in animated form) came to take her away. I hid in the backseat, too cowardly to save my mom.
I finally worked up the courage to venture into the castle to rescue her. I made my way up several spiral staircases before coming to a huge wooden door. I knocked nervously and an eerie voice told me to come in.
Sitting in a throne behind a huge desk was Jafar. He glared down at me and I felt all the color drain out of my face. He asked me what I wanted and I stammered that I was looking for my mother.
He laughed maniacally and told me he was using her for an experiment. I begged to see her and he told me to go to the back garden.
I ran down the stairs and out the back where I found my mom, a boy, a girl, and the guards. They had a weird sort of dart-shooter set-up and were going to shoot a dart full of an experimental substance into each person’s arm. They told me I had to shoot the dart at my mom and at first I refused. But my mom told me it was okay, so I stepped up to the machine. When the guards weren’t looking, I switched the dart so it was backwards and wouldn’t pierce my mother’s skin.
The guards caught me and grabbed me. I screamed and started crying hysterically as they shoved me away. The biggest guard took the machine, switched the dart back, and shot it into my mom’s arm.
I woke up crying and ran into my parent’s bedroom. I grabbed my mom’s left arm and rolled up her sleeve to see if there was a mark. Luckily there wasn’t, but since I was still convinced Jafar was after us, I spent the rest of the night sleeping on the floor by her side like a guard dog.