I almost never remember my dreams. Sometimes I wake up feeling anxious or sad in the middle of the night so I assume I DO dream, but I can’t ever remember what they were about. I can’t even pull one detail out of my head about them RIGHT after waking.
Also, I’m a bit obsessed with the British TV show Dr. Who.
These two things may SEEM random, but they created a perfect storm Sunday morning that set the tone for a totally whacked out day.
My insomnia was BAD Saturday night. I mean, Ambien couldn’t fix it, BAD! I was still wide awake at 3am and tossing and turning like someone had set some live lobsters loose on my side of the bed. The Husband kept waking up when I’d move, so I decided to try “sleeping” on the recliner in the living room. As I went into the living room I flipped on the light in the dinning room (They are connected. It would give me light but not BLIND me.) and ALL the light bulbs in the light fixture blew out. Oy. I FINALLY fell asleep a bit after 4am.
Shortly after 5am I woke to what I SWEAR TO GOD was a Dalek talking in my basement. I clearly heard “EXTERMINATE! EXTERMINATE!” “No power in the universe can stop the Daleks!” “EXTERMINATE!”. As I struggled to get my wits about myself, I freaked out wondering how in the HELL Daleks managed to invade my frelling BASEMENT! Then another thought came to me, The Tween must have gotten up, sneaked passed me, gone into the basement and started up Netlifx to watch some Dr. Who… at 5am. OH HELLS NAW!
The newest incarnation of the Daleks, or as I like to call 'em, Skittles Robots.
I started hollering for him to “GET UP HERE NOW!” Eventually he came into the living room… from the other side of the house… from his bedroom… NOT the basement. Needless to say, he was grumpy and annoyed and I was confused. I apologized to him for waking him, realized I MUST have been DREAMING ABOUT DALEKS IN MY BASEMENT (WTF?), and told him to go back to bed. He needed to use the bathroom first, though. He tried to turn on the light in his bathroom and… well… nothing. No light. NADA. We started flipping switches all over the house. Living room was fine. So was the guest room. Kitchen, dinning room, hallway, The Tween’s room and bathroom all were not. We couldn’t get any of the lights in any of those rooms to turn on.
I thought about it for a moment and realized I must have somehow blown a fuse when I tried to turn on the dinning room lights. I figured I’d mention it to The Husband in the morning. I sent The Tween back to bed and just kinda of… lay there. Then I thought, “Holy shit. What if there’s a short in the wiring in the walls? It could have started a fire and we’d never know until it was too late. That could cause the lights not to be working like that…”
So, at 5:45am I woke The Husband with, “Honey, where’s the fuse box? I need to check something…” I’ve never seen him wake up and get out of bed so fast!!! He went into the garage and began fiddling with the breaker box (after informing me we have breakers not fuses). He found the right one and put it all to rights.
For some reason, he decided to look out the front door at that point. There was a strange car in our driveway. When he opened the door they drove off. OBVIOUSLY, the 3 of us freaked out for a minute or two trying to figure out what was going on. Then, The Husband found the Sunday Paper on the porch. That explains THAT… Except… we don’t HAVE a subscription for the local newspaper. We commenced freaking out a little bit more and then everyone went back to bed and slept for a while longer.
After we all got up for the SECOND time, I made French Toast for breakfast. We ate and went to the grocery store… 3 times… in a 20 minute time span. Yes, we had a list. Yes, we are dorks. That’s a story for another time….