So, one kind of nice thing about pregnancy is I'm getting my psychic dreams back. Yes, “back.” In high school, I used to know when I was on an even keel because I would dream about what would happen the next day. Deja vu was never a weird feeling for me, because I knew that I'd been there before, just the night before.
It never worked when I was upset or stressed out, though, and I haven't had a prophetic dream worth noting since I moved away from Allerton Street.
Apparently, though, the progesterone in my body has whacked me back into shape. Psychic shape, that is. Except now, I'm dreaming about what's going on with other people, which frankly is a bit more interesting.
It started a few months ago. I had this dream that our store manager and her sister couldn't get a taxi home after working late on Saturday night, so they walked to my place instead. We piled into my car (in my dream) and I was driving them home, but on the way there was a riot and we had to ditch my car and travel through the storm tunnels. I finally got them to where they needed to be, and then realized that I was totally screwed, as I had to get back through the tunnels to find my car.
The next day, I talked to Roni. “How'd it go last night?”
“Pretty well,” she replied, “but the taxis weren't running after 1 a.m. so my sister and I had to walk home.”
Doo dee doo doo, doo dee doo doo… My boss chalked it up to mother's intuition, but I knew in my heart it was more than that.
And then last Tuesday, I dreamt about my dear friend Katherine, who I haven't seen since my wedding although we've kept in touch. Katherine's pretty cool, but I was surprised in my dream when she showed me her tattoo, which was the size of my hand and located on the front of her calf, near the bone.
“Geez, Katherine, that must have hurt!” I said.
“You think that hurt? Look at this,” she said, lifting up her shirt, pulling down the left cup of her bra and exposing another tattoo, this one of scars and barbed wire that spoked out from the tip of her nipple and radiated along her breast over her heart.
The image was so grotesque that it woke me up. I called her the next night, out of fear that her heart had been broken. Instead, I spoke with her housesitter — Katherine often travels for business, and was in Switzerland that week. I think I freaked the guy out a little bit, letting him know I'd had a dream about her and to let her know that I called and I love her.
(Katherine's comment later: “yeah, he was kind of freaked out, but, you know, he's a guy.”)
Katherine called me this morning and left a message — I was too asleep to answer the phone, but I called her back immediately after listening to her voicemail, which said that it was “kind of freaky” that I'd had a weird dream about her.
Freaky, indeed: on her flight to Frankfurt, Katherine had to hook herself up to an oxygen bottle, after nearly passing out.
“I'm going to the doctor on Wednesday, and all I have to say is, if I have to have heart surgery, I don't care if you're in labor, you need to be there for me, because you called it,” she said.
Further updates as bulletins and prophecy warrants. Cue “Twilight Zone” theme again… and… out.