phobias

When we began, I thought he was selecting the good ones to be saved. It happened in an arena with a hard-packed sand-skimmed floor. And the people looked like toys, matroishkas and other carved figurines in a carry-case with little shelves inside. He was a large hand picking up the nice ones, the kind ones, placing them in another set of carry-case shelves. Then he snapped it shut.

I saw a woodblock print showing the inside of a dollhouse. Little faces in distress, screaming, scrabbling, looking for air to breathe. (Did he think he was saving them? Shutting them away where no one could get to them? Did he forget they needed to breathe? Was he a child?)

When I woke up, I lay in bed continuing the dream. I don't think I could bear it, if someone shut me in or buried me alive. I got up, took a few deep breaths and played with my dog.

***

Spiders. Big ones, small ones. With long hairy brown legs. Motionless on my bathroom walls, the counter top, the rim of the tub. They didn't move but I had to use the loo. I was afraid I'd find one perched on the toilet paper. *shiver*