When I was but a wee tot in my parents’ care, I would have this recurring nightmare where my favorite blankie/stuffed bunny hybrid – Bubby – would get flushed down the toilet. It was usually done by some phantom force not explained by my dream, although on occasion my brother or parents would be at fault.
These dreams were more terrible and frightening to my six year-old brain than any nightmare that might have included a ghost or monster (or animatronic). I would often creep into my parents’ room after such a dream and beg my dad to let me snuggle with him. (He was a bigger softie than my mom. Hehe.) Sometimes Bubby would get flushed on a nightly basis, so you can probably imagine how exasperated my parents got with my strange fear.
Fast-forward 20-some years, and somehow bathrooms are still the subject of my most horrendous nightmares. (Bubby has long stopped being the object in crisis, however.) They’re so prevalent, they’ve actually become a marker for knowing how stressed out I am. If I’m under no stress, I actually dream about luxurious bathrooms. Such as:
As the stress increases, however, the bathrooms begin to look more like:
They run the gamut, let me tell you. From restrooms with cramped stalls and clogged toilets, to public showers where the walls are covered in mildew and the floors in wet toilet paper. I’ve had a few dreams where I wanted to wash up, but discovered I basically had to stand on a grubby toilet in order to get near the shower head. It’s the worst.
I’m not sure what causes these nightmares. I don’t freak out at less-than-stellar bathrooms in reality. Maybe it’s part of my subconscious wish for a grander bathroom in my own home, since apartments lend little space for that sort of luxury.
…Or maybe it’s Bubby communicating to me from the beyond, never letting me forget all those times I let him go down into the sewers, seeking his revenge for everything he suffered…
…Mom, Dad, can I sleep with you tonight?