This morning’s dream was unusually verbose and intense.  I slept fitfully after staying up until three a.m. to listen to all of my friend’s radio show, and my dream reflected my restlessness.

* * * * *

I’m in my childhood home in Yakima to visit Mom.  I’ve decided to stay at her house temporarily since Stepdad’s death, so I’ve brought a bunch of my furniture with me and set it up in a pleasing and particular way in my old bedroom.   It’s late at night, and I’m straightening up a few things before going to bed.  Finally satisfied, I pull back the covers, crawl in, and turn off the light.

When I wake up – in the dream – everything seems strange.  The bed is facing the opposite direction, and the furniture has all been rearranged in a way that Mom had suggested I try.  I sit up in bed, and there is stuff piled on top of every available flat surface.   Stepmom appears at the door, which is particularly odd, and asks, “Did you get anything for your birthday?”  Something in her voice tells me that I should be looking around the room for new items.

“I don’t think so,” I reply, “but let me take a look.  I just now woke up.”  She leaves the room,  and I sit up in bed to look for things that weren’t there before.  A telephone rings – a land-line phone, which I haven’t had in ages – and I pick it up, realizing that it’s one of the gifts.  I put the phone receiver to my ear and hear a constant stream of gibberish and advertising.  I listen for about five seconds, then place the receiver back on the base, with a considerable amount of difficulty.  Thanks, Stepmom, I think to myself.  Thanks for the gift I didn’t want. Hoping that the other gifts aren’t just more of her cast-offs, I look down at the carpet, and notice that it’s patchwork, instead of the purple that’s on the floor in my room.  I’ve awoken in my brother’s room.  Just then, Brother walks in and sits down on my bed.

“What’s going on?”  I ask him.  “I went to bed in my room, and woke up in here, and my stuff is all rearranged.”

“You need to get up now,” he tells me.  “Everybody’s expecting you.”

“All I want to do is sleep,” I say.  “I got about two hours last night.”

“Well, sorry, but. . .let’s go.”

I grumble and get out of bed, but I only make it about two feet before I have to sit down on the floor and lean my back against the wall.  Brother is not pleased by this, but he sits down next to me.  A kid about seventeen years old walks into the room and sits down on the other side of me.  I have no idea who he is, and instead of introducing himself, he says to me, “Your brother says you can do accents.”

“Yes, I can.”

“Well, do one.”

“Why?”

“Cause I want to hear it.”

I lapse into an Australian accent.  “What if I don’t feel like doin’ it?  That’s gotta count for somethin’.”

He laughs a little bit.  “That’s really good.”

I go back to my normal speaking voice.  “Thank you.”

He scoots in front of me and reclines against my legs, which makes me really uncomfortable.  “Dude.  What’re you doing?  Get off.”

“Use your accent,” he says, and stays put.

I lapse back into the Australian accent and say exasperatedly, “I didn’t ask for that, and I’m not playin’ along.”  I stand up from behind him, and he falls backwards a bit before regaining his balance.  I turn to my brother and ask, in my normal voice, “Who the hell’s he?  I don’t need this crap.  I’m going back to bed.”  I stand up, walk to the bed, and climb in, rolling away from Brother and the kid so that my back is facing them.  I pull the covers over my head, and I hear footsteps next to the bed.  An old man with huge Coke-bottle glasses leans down by my face and peers at me.  He blinks twice and speaks in a shrill voice.

“Where’s your driver’s license?”

“Who are you?”

“Your driver’s license?” he says, more firmly.

“Who the hell ARE you?”

Brother walks over and motions for the man to leave me alone. I am starting to lose my cool, and Brother knows it.  The old man leaves, and two middle-aged women appear in his place.

“What’s this about?” I ask them.

“We think there’s something wrong with you, and we want you to be okay,” one of them says, gesturing toward the other.  “She’s going to call the doctor now.”  The second woman picks up the land-line phone.

“I’m sleep deprived, that’s all,” I say irritably.  “I don’t NEED a doctor, I need sleep.  I’m not responsible for anything I’m likely to say to him.”

The doctor walks in and stands beside the two women.

“How the hell did you get here so fast?!”  I yell.  “She only just now picked up the phone, and she didn’t even SAY anything!  This is ridiculous.  I have to use the restroom.  Excuse me.”

The doctor looks at me and says to the women in a low but clearly audible voice, “He’s in a ‘baric’ state.  We’d better let him rest up.”

I walk to the bathroom and stand in front of the mirror to inspect myself.  The walls are painted dark green, and the large sink has been replaced with a tiny yellow one.  There are flowers everywhere, and a small candle is burning on the counter.  I turn the faucet handle and the water comes on full blast, sending water all over the counter.  I turn it off quickly, and try again for a normal water flow.  I rub my eyes and scratch my head.  I look and feel disheveled.  I stay in the bathroom for a few moments, flush the toilet so they think that’s what I was doing, then I open the door and walk out to the living room.  I lie down on the floor and curl up on my side.  Brother walks in and crouches down next to me.

“You can’t keep acting like this,” he says.  “You’re pissing people off.”

“Oh, is that right?” I say, very sarcastically.  I raise my voice so that everyone in the place can hear me.  “SORRY, EVERYONE.  SORRY I’M PISSING YOU OFF.”  I lower my voice to an acidic snarl.  “I’m sure that’ll do the trick.”

Brother raises his left hand to massage his furrowed brow.  “Don’t do this.  You haven’t even seen Niece yet or anything.  She wants to see you.”

“I want to see her too, but first I just need some sleep.  I’m not doing anybody any favors by seeing them when I’m in this state of mind.  Is the doctor gone yet?”

“Yeah, I think so,” he says.

“Thank God.”  I stand up and walk toward the back of the house to find Niece.  There are lots of strange people in the house, like servants and gardeners and cooks.  We’ve never had servants, or gardeners, or cooks.  None of this makes any sense.  Mom’s friend walks by and give me a hug.  “What’s happening?”  I ask her.  “I seem to have gone through the looking-glass, and everything is super weird now.”  We turn and walk toward the back door, and she keeps her arm around me for longer than I want it there, so I maneuver my way out of her grasp.

“It’s better with me here, though, isn’t it?” she asks.

“It certainly is,” I say, choosing my words carefully.  “We wouldn’t be able to do any of this without you.”

I walk out the back door and see Niece and Mom trying to get the attention of Mom’s five cats.  Niece wants to pick one of them up, and Mom tells her, “Here, try shy Saghra.”  I arrive next to them just as Niece cradles Saghra in her arms.

“Wow, she’s huge, like a tiger cub,” I say.  I reach out to pet Saghra, and she slowly raises a single claw, which hooks deeply into the skin of my left index finger.  “Damn it!” I mutter a couple of worse expletives under my breath, since Niece is standing there too.  “Stupid cat.”  I unhook her claw from my finger and run into the house to get a bandage for the bleeding flap of skin.  Brother is inside, and I push my way past him.

“What happened?” he asks.

“Something’s wrong with everything today.  I can’t even pet a cat!”

I storm off into the bathroom and bandage my finger carefully, though I know the blood is going to fill it up before too long.

* * * * *