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Studies in Human Parasitism: Anxiety Dreaming

They say that pregnant women are way more likely to lose their shit, but so far that hasn't happened to me much...while I'm awake.
Ok so maybe last night I cried over the household chores, but I do that on a monthly basis anyway. Mr. Fuzzykins is like "hey, the sheets are in the closet where sheets go - isn't that 'put away'?" While I'm more the type to sort sheets into sets, stack them neatly, and have them ready to go when I need them...What? The nuance is lost on you, too? Well, then you are not anal. Congrats!
So my emotional life hasn't seemed way out of control to me. But my dreams have been fucking bonkers! Not only are they long, involved and unusually vivid, they are emotionally intense in a way that I've rarely experienced since childhood. And interestingly, they are often about deeply anxiety provoking things - either my personal and/or professional shortcomings (like night before last's train filled dream where my mom got mad at me for not fulfilling my promise as a writer), or about loss.
Lately the loss dreams have focused not on losing people to death or injury or things that are terribly sad but don't terrify me during waking hours, but about losing track of people, especially Mr. Fuzzykins. I usually wake up and have to look around and be certain that my waking life is as I left it - they're that convincing.
Last night's dream was almost hilarious, except that I woke up at the point where I was sobbing and trying to yell but unable to use my voice. 
Here's the setup: Mr. Fuzzykins and his BFF, and a woman who must've been BFF's wife (although her personage was not distinct in the way that some dream people can be) hop in the car to go to a barbecue joint I'm really excited about. It's unclear whether this BBQ joint is in Rhode Island or Delaware, but regardless, it's a place I've only seen while passing through and I've never been there before. When we get there, rather than being an authentic and mouthwatering rib shack, it has the plastic tables and faux jolly staff of a fast food joint, and I can tell from the second we walk in that the barbecue is gonna suck. So we have a powwow. Mr. Fuzzykins, who is even more a slave to his stomach than pregnant me, is all for staying and giving it a try. His BFF and BFF's wife are hungry, but happy to go along with the whims of the Hungry Pregnant Woman. So I talk Mr. Fuzzykins back into the car so we can go to another place I think I've seen from the train (oddly that is a reference from real life - a spot in Wilmington DE that looks a little sports bary but good) , but in the parking lot we run into my friend Melissa who's there meeting up with her bridesmaids, and you can tell because half of them are wearing ridiculous pink prom dresses. (That's one of the best things about dreams - I was actually in Melissa's wedding, and it was as unlike my dream of it as it is possible to be.) I stop to say hi of course, and get unintentionally swept into the pack of bridesmaids. When I look around for Mr. Fuzzykins, he's nowhere to be seen! I wander around the parking lot looking for the car, but it's gone. And then I walk through the restaurant - still, no sign. I reach into my pocket to get my phone, and instead of my iphone I find some gargantuan phone that is definitely not mine! Somehow I unlock it and try to dial Mr. F, but every time I try to plug in the numbers the phone takes me to another screen or quick dials a person I'm not trying to reach. At this point I start to get really upset. I try to make my way through the multiplying bridesmaids to Melissa so she can help me dial the number, but I can't seem to make her understand what's happening. Then a girl comes over and claims the gargantuan phone that, it turns out, is hers. I ask for mine in return - thinking maybe we'd switched - but she doesn't have it and after a search through all the bridesmaids cars, I can't find my phone either! By now I'm really alarmed. So much so that I am sobbing uncontrollably and crouching on the ground. But now - as if things could get any worse - the troop of bridesmaids, with Melissa at their core, start to shuffle into the fast food barbecue place. And as I try to yell after her, I realize I can't muster more than a whisper because my throat is so parched from crying!
This is when I wake up, look over at the real Mr. Fuzzykins in our bed, and then rush to the bathroom. Because peeing all the time is a real thing that happens - don't wait to find the dream-bathroom, it's too late then.

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