This morning, my husband “begged” me not playing horror movie at the night again. He said he could not take it any more. He has already gotten sick of acting a hero who always rescues a lady in danger almost every month.He would rather being a coward having a peaceful sleep than being suspected by the neighbours that he was killing his wife. He tried to make me believe that if I keep doing the horrifying things at the night,the Queanbeyan police would soon knock at our door in midnight, and the court might send him a summon in the not-very-far future.
What did I do? I have no idea at all. But whatever I did, was that really remarkably bad? I know there were a couple of “accidents” happened long time ago and I remember that I did wake up by my screaming. One was in the small carriage of the train from Chongqing to Beijing and we shared the terrible air with another two strangers. I dreamed that there was one person who was passing by in front of my bed. It wasn’t very horrible because I couldn’t really see what that creature looked like and he (I guess that would be a male) didn’t actually do anything harm to me, but I just couldn’t help shouting out. When I opened my eyes, I found that the travllers of the whole carriage woke up either and tried to figure out what’s going on here. The memory of another one was much more blurred. what I know is one night I heard I was crying.
Trust me, I am living an ordinary happy life. There should be no shadows in my heart or my mind. As for the darkness of a human being, I have just as anybody else of this world has. And normally I don’t cry much when I am a sober person. I also believe I am a tough person with the strong nerves, but more I believe who I am, more weired I’ve got about why I acted like that in dreams. I prefer to thingking my behaviour as a kind of compensation for what I could not do when I am conscious or having too much ego. I don’t know why I, all of a sudden, want to keep a record for my dreams. It’s like another life I am living in, it’s like something would never be predicted.
Well, this idea reminds me what a old friend did in the Uni, who was also one of my roommates used to keep a log book beside her pillow to write down her last night’s dream every day. It used to be a strange thing for me to get used to seeing her sitting on the bed with the messy hair and nightie as the first thing to do after I opened my eyes up in the every morning. It was also bizarre enough to watch a girl trying really hard to sort out the pieces of her thoughts from the still warm memory of last night. Trust me. She was kind of like struggling, you can tell from her frowned forehead. Every time I saw her, I just couldn’t help laughing and then I made a big yawn trying to get more sleep. But today, I am thinking, so many years has passed by, if that little log book is still under her pillow, I would be the most zealous person who’d love to read and explore whatever it takes.
