Feeling: fortuitous
Listening to: Kristen Chenoweth - Popular
Reading/Watching: St. Elmo's Fire

It seems like every time I sleep on my back, I have a nightmare. You'd think I'd learn.

But no, last night mon coeur was auditioning for the role of a panini press, and kept leaning all of his body weight on me, so that when I rolled flat on my stomach, he would angle himself half-on-top of me, and slowly flatten me into the mattress. Admittedly, I am overall much flatter than I have been in days of yore, but still. A girl's gotta breathe.

So after kicking him away for the third time, I tried sleeping on my back (because sleeping on my stomach was hazardous), and had a dream that both my parents died in a car accident on their way to a skiing vacation, or something. Dad couldn't find his cell phone, they were both looking around the car for it, and a fricking carabou walked in front of their car. I dream really, really weird things.

I was freaking out so much in the dream, I woke myself up (and mon coeur, too, as a bonus), breathing weirdly and completely confused because some part of me remembered talking to Dad on the phone last night about what color tie he should wear, so I had been dreaming incredulously, "What kind of ghost calls from beyond the grave for a wardrobe question?" and then I woke up, and of course the relief of returning to reality made me start sobbing.

I remember starting this journal (holy God, almost six years ago now), and writing a few entries about how my parents were so critical, and pushed me so hard, and how I felt like nothing was ever enough for them. And that's all true, to some extent. It took about five or six years between the time that I became self-motivated and financially responsible, and the time that they actually realized it. So no matter what I was doing, they always had suggestions about how I could do it better, and no matter what I achieved, there was always a comment about how if only I'd worked harder, I could have done even more.

But somewhere along the way, I did things like have a senior recital, write a thesis, graduate, get jobs in my field, flounder with money and scrape by without asking for help, and take care of my own problems so that no matter what happened, they always heard about it after the fact, when I was explaining how I fixed it. Somewhere along the way, my dad realized he didn't need to remind me to get my oil changed or my car inspected, and my mom realized she didn't need to remind me to job-hunt or be careful with money.

And I'm sure they'll always have something to say about what I could have done better, because it's part of who they are, but it helps that I'm an adult now, and they've actually admitted that to themselves. Graduating, getting engaged, and planning an entire wedding by myself helped my image, though.

But some part of me still needs them. Last night, when my father was debating between a gold or a silver tie ("well, the silver matches your mom's dress, but will it clash with yours? And would gold look too much like the groom's?"), I was listening to him talk and grinning because my dad, all businesslike and organized as he is, is so damn cute sometimes. So naturally, my subconscious decided to throw me the most vicious "what-if" possible, just to remind me how unbelievably lucky I am.

I guess I'm grateful for the dream, even though I'm now convinced that my subconscious is a cruel bitch, because it's good to get that reminder. My parents are still married, they love me, they've never abused or neglected me, and I get to have them both with me on my wedding day. That's about as crazy-lucky as it gets.

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