Dream analysis. Almost no one gets this right, in terms of writing about it. Unless they are professionals. Like, say, a Clinical Psychologist. But then none of them seem that inclined towards creative writing. Perhaps they are too busy actually helping people with real tragedies to bother with fiction.
But it seems to me that what is missing in fiction writing on dreams is that people don't really understand the symbolism of dreams. How they work and how they are read. So they end up making up some silly trite, pseudo-surreal narrative that sounds totally fake.
I hate that.
Because my dreams, while they are eventually easy for me to understand, are never that clean.
The night Page told my husband, "You two have to leave!" after we had put our lives on hold for her, and entered into a unique type of poverty available only to graduate student couples, was the first night of a series of terrible stress-mares. While I slept through the night, it was never restful. Far from. Every two hours, I would awaken with a pounding heartbeat and rushing in my ears. An hour of tossing and turning would institute another episode.
What was the first one? I was trying to escape her. That simple.
She was no Hydra, she was merely scary. Her hair wasn't streaming. Nothing out of the ordinary. She was merely herself.
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