After about 4 straight days of essentially zero sleep, I pulled an Alex and slipped into unconsciousness shortly after dinner tonight. When I woke up, it was 11:00, and Alex was in bed next to me, watching "The X-Files."
Me: "Oh, my gosh, this dream I just had! It was so sad!"
Alex: "Don't talk directly into my face. You have sleep-breath."
Me: "Don't you want to hear about my dream? I dreamed you died!"
Alex: (sighs and pauses the TiVo and focuses his attention)
Me: "Well, you didn't die IN the dream. I mean, the dream wasn't about you dying. What it was about, is I was in some kind of workshop online, where a bunch of women were making photo-journals of anything they wanted, and my entire photo-journal was full of pictures of scenes in New Orleans and especially this beautiful, super-luxurious hotel, which does not even exist in real life..."
Alex: (interrupting) "Well, there is that 5-star hotel there..."
Me: "Not the point. It was a dream-place, not a real place."
Alex: "I'm just saying, one of the best-rated luxury hotels in the country is..."
Me: "NOT THE POINT. The point is, you were dead." (he finally hushes) "Anyway, people kept asking me why my journal was all about New Orleans and this hotel..."(I begin to tear up as I tell it. Seriously.) "And I don't want to talk about it, but I just look at all the pictures as I put the project together, and I'm so sad...and they keep asking, so I finally tell them" (pausing to wipe away the tears from my eyes) "that I collected all these pictures because this was the last place I remember being truly happy, because it was the last place my husband and I went together before he died, nigh on to a year ago today..."(small sob). "I missed you SO much in this dream, and I don't even know what killed you." (*sniff*)
Alex: (looking deeply and sincerely into my eyes) "Overdramaticism?"
Alex has the rest of the story at his place.