Strange, what ends up in your dreams.

To set the stage:  First, we had gone to see (edit: Not Danny Boyle’s. Juan Carlos Fresnadillo’s. Boyle did the first one. Chris nagged me until I made this edit.) 28 Weeks Later.  (It terrified me and I watched the majority of it through Chris’s sleeve.  But I do respect Danny Boyle’s affinity for Muse.)  Second, we’ve been spending a lot of time apart due to Chris’s project, so there’s been that undercurrent of hypoglycemia fear.  And thirdly, the cats have been very annoying.

Yesterday morning, Chris admitted to having had a nightmare.

“I had the weirdest dream.  It was so real.”

“Really?  What happened?”

“It was like 28 Weeks Later.  We were in my old house and the zombies were there.  They were tearing through the house and you were low.  There was no food.  I was only able to find like a quarter of a cup of juice.  Barely any juice at all.”

“I was low in your dream?  That’s odd.”

“Yeah.  You drank the juice but it didn’t do much.  In my dream, I found half of an English muffin and I had it in my hand, but you know how dreams are, and all of a sudden I couldn’t find the English muffin.”

“What?  It had disappeared?”

“It had.  So we ran upstairs and we were hiding in my sister’s old room and you were completely out of it.  Walking around, mumbling to yourself.  I was holding the door shut and the zombies were pounding on the other side.  There was a big, white bureau in there that I kept asking you to push in front of the door, but you were barely coherent, you were so low.”

“That’s scary.  Then what happened?”

“This is where it gets awful!  I have my feet braced against the floor and my back against the Siah Sausage Muffin.door.  There are zombies pushing to get in.  You’re completely low and just about passed out.  And then the stupid cats start climbing all over me!  Prussia came up and sat on my lap, Siah was purring in my face … it was ridiculous!”

I couldn’t help it.  I started laughing.

“I know!”  Chris looked exasperated.  As he was talking, Siah was winding herself through his ankles.

“Zombies.  Lows.  The stupid cats.  And a missing English muffin.”  I said.

I think we need another vacation.  Diabetes and zombies?  Our lives are becoming tangled in our dreams and there isn’t even a decent soundtrack.