I starred in my own action movie last night. Unfortunately, it didn't go too well for the hero. The details of the plot are a little sketchy now, but evidently the climactic scene involved me either running with a bomb or me catching one thrown in my direction. As I clasped the bomb to my chest it went off blowing me sky-high and wide awake. In my panicked disintegration I reached out and seized Stacy sleeping to my left, setting that domino a-tumbling. She instantly started screaming for her life and thrashing around, but in a slow-mo running-through-jello sort of way. Even her voice was low and distended, like a Dolores O'Riordan banshee lament in a Cranberries song, or rather, like an Arnold Schwarzenegger death-yell played at half speed. As Stacy convulsed in her alternate universe I screamed at her, not quite up to speed myself, "It's me! It's me! It's me!"
Eventually she came out of her panic and we both collapsed on our backs panting, recovering. That's when we noticed L lying to my right a little shocked and trembling. I asked her what she was doing there and she couldn't remember, explaining that she had a hard time remembering her dreams. As she calmed down she started hiccuping. Stacy, evidently not quite satisfied with the level of ambient adrenaline in the room, whispered in my ear that I should scare her. Never the one to pass up a chance to torture my family, I waited until everything was quiet (save the rhythmic popping coming from L) and lunged at her going "BOO!"
The hiccuping stopped instantly.
Evidently it also pushed some other bio-emotional buttons because all of a sudden she remembered her dream. "Daddy, I was on the deck of a boat. Shooting cannonballs."
And that's were all of this started...
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