Rescue

Fiorella woke up early this morning, like 4:30 a.m. early, but, not being one who wants to waste time, she worked on some of her projects, made breakfast, took care of the dog, and, when the time came, read the newspaper. Then she closed her eyes for a restful nap.

And had a nightmare.

She was all alone in a place she didn't recognize, and all of a sudden, although the leash was still in her hand, her dog was gone. Everything was confusing, like she was in a foreign country, and she knew worse was to come. But just when things really got thretaening, she woke up. A second later, her daughter called to check up on her, as daughters do when they feel responsible for their mothers' welfare.

Fio is convinced that Daughter's timely phone call saved her from whatever horror awaited her in her dream.

Thank you, God.

Inner Self

Fiorella diagnoses herself as paranoid obsessive.  Always looming over her is the threat of failing to carry out one of her self-assigned responsibilities, of not living up to what she thinks is expected of her.  It's guilt--part and parcel of being brought up Missouri Synod.  To compensate, she writes everything down--there are scraps of paper on her desk and in her "study" that date back to the ice age--and she makes lists to boot.  Office Depot's profit margin is based on her purchases of tablets.

Fio has been known to wake up in the middle of the night to check that she's taken all her pills and that they were the correct ones.  A recurring nightmare is that she's forgotten about one pill or the other a couple of years ago and fate is about to catch up with her.  This morning she suddenly realized that dream she'd often had about finding a baby dead in his crib because she'd forgotten about him doesn't have anything to do with babies (thank you, Friend Janece), but about her fear that unknown things forgotten along the way will come back to bite her.

Are you sure you want to continue reading this woman's blog?  She's crazy.