No Rest For The Wicked

I had an awful nights sleep last night, Dear Reader.

I said, I HAD AN AWFUL NIGHTS SLEEP LAST NIGHT! Some sympathy wouldn't go amiss.

Oh, please yourselves.

I had one of those nights where I had one nightmare after another. The Boyf said I woke up with a shout on at least six occassions, plus once I woke up sobbing.

It was those bloody wolves again. I kept having these mini nightmares which seemed to comprise of nothing more than flashes of huge teeth and fur and eyes. Then there was one where a wolf was standing over my bed watching me, and then finally another where I was the wolf.

I think I've worked out what these are about since my spate of them some months ago. The wolves seem to be a symbol of my sexual side, and in particular my reluctance to truly let myself go sexually. Now, I know that's quite hard to believe, those of you who have actually been paying attention to my blog, but it's absolutely true. Going to The Hoist is a recent development, and most of the time I go there I'm a little stand-offish and don't participate (like last Saturday). The Boyf calls it being uptight, I call it being picky about who I have sex with.

But not all my dreams were about wolves. The one that made me sob was about my Mum being very old and frail and being in a care home. And her best friend had a major operation in America and came back in a box, with a small tv screen on the front which showed her face. Everyone in the dream apart from me was old and frail - all my friends and family - and I was the only one still young (and pretty. Ahem). And I ended up curling up into a ball and crying because I didn't want to see the people I cared about in this way, and because I was frightened it was going to happen to me.

Then I had a dream where I was a policeman chasing a serial killer who was draining the victims of their blood and making blood-bags. Charming.

And finally I had a dream about a locker room I couldn't find my way out of. It was like a labyrinth. This morning The Boyf said that it sounded more like Heaven than a nightmare, until I added that it was a girls locker room. Shudder!

So, the big question is; do I need counselling?


On an unrelated note, this happens to be my 100th post. Frankly I'm amazed I've made it this far, but I'm glad I have as I enjoy writing this blog. And I thank you, Dear Reader, for stopping by and having a look at my shoddily written ramblings.