Rings, Godzilla and one crazy dreamscape

Reading dream sequences in books is eye-roll-inducing. With few exceptions (in my mind, anyway), including a character’s “dream” seems to be a thinly-veiled way of dumping information on how they’re really “feeling” without actually spelling out how they feel. We all subscribe to the “show, don’t tell” policy, and I guess some writers think that counts. Except it totally doesn’t.

I now recognize the irony of writing a blog post about a recent dream I had, then, but I’m mercurial. It’s just how I roll.

So. My dream. It’s nighttime and I’m running through my grandparents’ house, the one where I spent countless summers growing up. In my dreams, I’m always in or around Grandma and Grandpa’s house; it’s a safe zone, if you will. My happy place. Whenever something crazy is going on, returning to the scene of my youth is a balm for the soul. So it makes sense that Dream Megan would run there at the first sign of the apocalypse.

There’s always some crazy natural disaster happening in my dreamscape. Usually tornadoes.

But this time? It’s Godzilla. Like — that Godzilla. Mind you, I’ve never seen a “Godzilla” flick and don’t plan to, though I can understand the fun and campy value of such a thing. But apparently Godzilla is coming and my small town is battenin’ down the hatches, if you will, because Stuff Is About To Go Down and I’m going to be in the middle of it. I’m racing through town in a car that’s not really my car, but apparently Dream Megan is rich and owns an expensive, sleek automobile. In black.

I arrived at my grandparents’ house, intending to reunite with my family, and I see everyone — parents, sister, aunts and uncles — but realize I’m missing something: a black and onyx ring. Dream Spencer has proposed to Dream Megan with this dark ring, and it’s been lost in my desperation to flee a destructive monster. And that’s not going to work for me.

{Photo from Reeds Jewelers}

Risking life and limb, I leave the sanctuary of my grandparent’s house to search for the ring. I retrace my footsteps. It’s pouring rain and Dream Megan is hysterical, crying and screaming for someone to help her find this weird engagement ring. No one does. Perhaps realizing I’m going out of my ever-lovin’ mind, family members try to restrain me — but I can’t be deterred. Even as Godzilla’s shadow looms and the screams of neighborhood children pour into the streets, Dream Megan is out there stupidly fumbling in the grass in search of a hunk of rock and metal.

Like that thing will help when Godzilla swallows me whole.

I don’t usually remember my dreams. Aside from the ones where tornadoes are looming in the distance, inching closer as I stand before a window, I usually don’t recall anything about my nocturnal imaginings. The scary ones typically include me failing to scream for help when I desperately need to, and that’s pretty much what happened here.

But this one felt so real.

I expected to find the missing ring on my hand when I woke up.


Do you remember your dreams? Ever have one about monsters or missing jewelry? Any thoughts on what this mess might be saying about me?