Day of dream: a loooong time ago
[something happened, can't remember what]
I was in my room, a room very similar to mine in the National University of Ireland, Maynooth: a few stories up, small-ish, a bed, an ensuite bathroom-toilet, a window, a cabinet and everything in similar positions, except there was no desk.
It was the morning of my wedding day. My husband-to-be is rich, very rich. He had sort of a bad boy vibe. Truth is I wasn't sure if I actually wanted to marry him. He proposed and I simply agreed. (Was I fretting over my old issues again in my dream? Was that why he proposed, to help me out of my problem? Arhh...) I peeked out of the window. He hired a fully uniformed band to play this morning, outside my window. I was feeling sick in the stomach because I did not know whether I was doing the right thing. I was beginning to think that he was some mafia chief. That was one reason I was feeling sick. Otherwise, it was the questions that were going through my mind (not necessarily in the same words):
1. Do I love him?
2. If no, marrying him is so wrong!
3. If I do, and he's a mafia... That's terrible of me. What kind of person am I?
4. What kind of person will I become as a mafia wife?
5. What do I do after I get married? Sit around at home? I'll be so terribly bored.
6. Wait, I'll be rich. I can go shopping everyday! But that's my husband's money. I don't want to look like I married him just to spend his money!
6. Help my husband? But he's a mafia! What do I do? Start killing people and extorting money?
7. Oh no, he's rich. That money is made from killing men, poisoning children and breaking up families.
8. I can't spend that money.
9. What do I do after I marry him?
10. Should I even marry him?
11. Do I love him? If yes, then what kind of person does that make me?
I was left feeling sick thinking about those questions in circles until I woke from my dream...
[something happened, can't remember what]
I was in my room, a room very similar to mine in the National University of Ireland, Maynooth: a few stories up, small-ish, a bed, an ensuite bathroom-toilet, a window, a cabinet and everything in similar positions, except there was no desk.
It was the morning of my wedding day. My husband-to-be is rich, very rich. He had sort of a bad boy vibe. Truth is I wasn't sure if I actually wanted to marry him. He proposed and I simply agreed. (Was I fretting over my old issues again in my dream? Was that why he proposed, to help me out of my problem? Arhh...) I peeked out of the window. He hired a fully uniformed band to play this morning, outside my window. I was feeling sick in the stomach because I did not know whether I was doing the right thing. I was beginning to think that he was some mafia chief. That was one reason I was feeling sick. Otherwise, it was the questions that were going through my mind (not necessarily in the same words):
1. Do I love him?
2. If no, marrying him is so wrong!
3. If I do, and he's a mafia... That's terrible of me. What kind of person am I?
4. What kind of person will I become as a mafia wife?
5. What do I do after I get married? Sit around at home? I'll be so terribly bored.
6. Wait, I'll be rich. I can go shopping everyday! But that's my husband's money. I don't want to look like I married him just to spend his money!
6. Help my husband? But he's a mafia! What do I do? Start killing people and extorting money?
7. Oh no, he's rich. That money is made from killing men, poisoning children and breaking up families.
8. I can't spend that money.
9. What do I do after I marry him?
10. Should I even marry him?
11. Do I love him? If yes, then what kind of person does that make me?
I was left feeling sick thinking about those questions in circles until I woke from my dream...
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