Fitful dreaming, prickley night

It’s been one of those days. I should’ve known it was going to be, because I had one of those nights. I slept badly (no full moon, no period – great, the insomnia’s spreading). I now know where the expression ‘slept fitfully’ comes from, except that mine was more ‘dreamt fitfully’. It was a night of being in that middle space, between sleep and wakefulness. That space where the dark seems sinister, the branches blowing against the roof seem dangerous and your thoughts wander close to the abyss, without their leashes.

I knew it was not a good sign when I was woken moments after I’d nodded off by my phone ringing. I always panic when my phone rings in the night (I’m a natural worrier, lucky me). It was obviously a wrong number but the guy wanted to chat. Wierdo.

I should’ve worked out that it was really not good when I was awoken by one of the monstrous mosquitoes, sucking blood from just above my eyebrow (I have an itchy bite to prove it). What made me finally get it, however, was the fact that the monstrous mosquito woke me from a dream of rugby.

Rugby. WTF? Now, while I am not averse to gathering in a pub to patriotically drink beer (while other people watch rugby) for an international game, the fact is that I’m not a rugby girl. I am, however, a beer-drinking girl. I don’t like stocky men with short (or no) necks, wearing little shorts to show off their stocky legs. I especially don’t like them when they’re running around on a field following an oblong ball, looking for excuses to give each other wedgies, or worse, blood noses.

I vaguely went back to sleep after contemplating what on earth it could mean, my dreaming of watching a rugby match. At the stadium. Live. The mind boggles. I placated myself with the knowledge that, in the dream, I was whinging about being bored. Maybe it was the lack of beer.

But my sleep was filled with barbed dreams that prickled in my mind. I woke up feeling like I’d been microwaved. At 4:45am. I’ll leave it at that. I then managed to have a lot of trouble getting my driveway gate to open to let me out to get to work. At work, I looked down to discover I’d spilt toothpaste all down my top. And in larger scale news, our mountains are burning. Again. While this created a beautiful, glowing crimson sun this morning, I worry so about the little tortoises.

I wonder if rugby is listed in dream analysis books?