For some reason, I used to take a great deal of delight in telling others my dreams. I guess this bad habit lasted until college, when I was informed that describing one’s dreams to another human adult had the same effect as slowly reading a phone book to them in a monotone voice while administering 400 ml of NyQuil. So it made people fall asleep with the added bonus that when they woke up, they absolutely despised you.
So I stopped. Having more than enough points against my personality, I chose to cut my losses on that one and just keep my dreams to myself. Until, of course, now. Now, I have a blog so if you are reading this just remember a. that you chose to, b. you can stop reading anytime you want, and c. you probably like me or are plotting against me. In any case, please don’t hate me.
Last week I dreamed about spiders. You’re going to want to notice that at the end of spider there’s an s. In English, this designates a plural. Not one spider, spiders. In my dream, they were literally flying through the air. Towards me. Big ones. But the kind with sharp legs. Oh it was awful. Then, I noticed another spider – this one that was sort of big and meaty, like a small dog, and was sitting in the middle of a web watching television. So, naturally, a bunch of former NFL players showed up and began poking him in one of his several eyes. I thought this was a bad idea and evidently I voiced that opinion because the big spider agreed with me (verbally) and then decided he should hang out with me. He did not leave my side for the rest of the dream. I think we went to the movies and he was charged the child rate.
Anyone who knows me personally will know that spiders and I are not exactly simpatico. I have grown since my early days of arachnophobia, but the sight of something with 8 legs will typically send me in the other direction in a hurry. So when I awoke at about 3 am and remembered my dream’s occupants, I did one big shiver and grandiose multi-locale body slap. Burke condemned me to the purgatory of the other room, where I dragged myself. Any hopes I had of getting back into bed were dashed when the cat took my pillow and the dog took over the warm covers I had just vacated. Traitors.
In the living room, now wide awake and after a cursory check for spiders in all places, I took out my phone to do some research. Spiders in dreams are well represented. If they’re in your bed, they represent encroachments on your privacy; killing one is bad luck; spiders eggs means a roadblock to success; a web suggests betrayal and distrust; and being its prey means a positive mindset.
If you’re still awake, I applaud you. If you’re awake and don’t have the shivers, you should get a medal.
Flying spiders can mean prosperity or good fortune coming my way. This chuffed me, though admittedly it hardly seems possible that anyone with a spider flying towards them will feel fortune or prosperous, I suppose unless it was carrying a bag of money or holding a winning lottery ticket. Nevertheless, I took it as a good sign. I looked up going to a movie with a giant spider that was being poked by former NFL players but any version of that got a response of seek help immediately and a request for my location, so I brushed that all under the rug, decided that I am completely of sound mind, and soon cried myself to sleep. This time, I dreamed that I owed my pillow money, but I have bored you enough.
