Blowing Up the Past

I love to remember the past -- the good times, the bad times...sports, friends, fights, toys...you name it.

But man, last night when I laid in bed staring at the ceiling from about midnight til 1 or 2 am, I was thinking about the house I grew up in and all the memories -- good and bad -- that I have in that house. I finally fell into my usual light sleep for a few hours.

This morning as the sun started bouncing off the buildings that my bedroom window looks out onto, I awoke out of a terrible nightmare. I'd been dreaming that I had become a suicide bomber and I was trying to blow up my parents house. Somehow I'd convinced my dreaming self that the world was coming to an end and I might as well be a part of it or something. So anyway, as the last bomb went off in parents living room, I found I was still alive.

And then I woke up. In the world's worst mood. So my awake self has now been affected by my sleeping self? I'm on my second cup of coffee trying to shake it off.

I remember when I was a kid I could control my dreams. Never had a nightmare and I was always a hero. And then once after my brother ran away from home, I told a therapist that I could control my dreams. She was shocked. And for whatever reason, I've never had the ability to control my dreams since. I didn't use to wake up in a bad mood ever either.

Sigh.