When OCD Dreams

So there I was, deeply asleep.  Or so I thought.  Turns out that OCD is just another name for nothing left to relax about.

I dreamed that Phillip had accidentally thrown away all the living room furniture.

Now this is ridiculous on so many levels that I hesitate to even mention them, but because I can't stop myself, here are just a few:

1.  Phillip's natural habitat is prone, on the sofa.  He would really notice if it wasn't there.

2.  There is no way in the world that anything bigger than a gum wrapper could be thrown out by his hand unless he were under duress (i.e., I made him do it).

3.  Our living room is so small that even one less knitting needle would render it a barren wasteland.

4.  Did I mention that Phillip would be really sad, nay, deeply distraught, if there were any less furniture available than usual?

All of those obvious notions notwithstanding, its germane to note that I am the sort of person for whom sleep is more of an interruption in activity than anything else.  So when I go there (sometimes for minutes on end), it's driven by my physical self needing to go unconscious more than my intellectual self requiring rest.  Sometimes the body checks out while the mind remains in overdrive.  No one who has met me is surprised by this.

But in my dream (the sort where when you wake up, actual reality is the jolting state that requires you to suspend disbelief), the reality that Phillip had accidentally thrown out the entire living room suite was really plausible. 

How could that happen, your conscious and cognisant minds may ask?  Easy:  He DID throw away my fleece once.  Something so pivotal to my daily life and so much a part of my yardstick for personal development that I could not cope with its loss on any plane.  It really happened, and however much I have forgiven him, and however often I let him sleep indoors since it happened, It seems that my subconscious is still not done with it.

The (remaining) fleece is spun.  The sweater from it is knitted.  There is even a whole second sweater, that you can see if you go to an event where Black Water Abbey Yarns is represented.  And the pattern made from that project has been received with kudos, and even sold out upon its debut.

My sleeping self is still pissed off.

Poor Phillip suggested that (yet another) blog post would help me work through my grief.  And maybe get him closer to being forgiven by my inner knitter.  Forgiveness that his wife and roommate has already allegedly granted him.

At 3AM I actually woke him up and demanded to know how he could get rid of something we needed so much.  He groggily asked me what he had done this time.  "The living room furniture!" I answered, unable to believe that he had not been right there with me, in my dream.  "No honey," he replied, "I'm sure it's right there where you left it", and went back to sleep.

Easy for him to say.  All he has to do is sit down to feel fulfilled. 

I know that it's really time to let this one go, and my laboring brain is running home to unresolved issues so that I won't have to focus on pertinent ones (Book Deadline, anyone?).  Your suggestions, Gentle readers, are welcome and appreciated.  By Phillip.