A couple weeks ago, I started having recurring dreams about being naked. I know we’ve all had them now and then; the being in a room of people, friends or not, and suddenly all your clothes have vanished; or walking into a room full of other naked people; or visiting a “nature camp” only to discover you can’t get in unless you strip like everyone else–oh, wait. That last one is from the movie “A Shot in the Dark” with Peter Sellers. One of the Pink Panther series.
YOU MUST WATCH IT. As soon as you’re done reading this blog.
Anyway. Naked dreams.
When I say “recurring” I mean, like every night for several nights in a row. I get the feeling my psyche’s trying to tell me something.
New city, again. New house, again. Blowing the dust off old dreams and trying anew, again. It’s a lot of change for this introvert and lover of my comfort zone.
This week has been spent with a lot of back-and-forth between residences, getting stuff moved over, etc. Yesterday was the official moving truck with the biggest load of everything. And then. As my hubby attempted to affix the washer hoses to the hot and cold faucets in the laundry room, we had a…
We’ll call it a mishap. The hot water faucet shot him in the face, his torso, his hands as he scrambled to wrench it off. It wouldn’t wrench closed, and the force was too strong for him to get the washer hose onto it.
Gallons of water drenched him, the walls, the floor; seeped down into the living room and those walls, and down into the crawlspace. There’s no other word for it than chaos, you guys. Utter chaos. Like some kind of scene from a National Lampoon movie, except this was our real life.
Being a brand-new house, we weren’t familiar with important things like where the main water shutoff was located. The good news is; I found it in the crawlspace and we got the water stopped. We’ve also done all the things one does to mitigate: we’ve rented industrial dehumidifiers and have fans and air movers going all over the place. Everything is going to be fine.
The kicker was, and is, that while all this was going on, we had strangers in the house: two guys we hired to unload our moving truck, and the AT&T technician trying to install our internet. Strangers.
There is a certain amount of control I believe we all seek when it comes to presenting ourselves. On the internet, at parties, at business functions, at family gatherings. We want others to perceive us in the way we want them to, whether that’s realistic or not. And with strangers? There’s no precedent with them, right? There’s no history for them to compare with your current behaviors, it’s utterly what-you-see-is-what-you-get.
And last night, while my brain scrambled to function, while I panicked over how to get a plastic bucket fast enough up to my husband, while I watched water pour like Niagara Falls into my beloved house, while I tried to type into my phone “where is main water shutoff” with hands shaking so badly they would NOT type it, and while I dove headfirst under the house shouting “WHAT AM I LOOKING FOR”, there was no time, energy, or thought to control. I was raw. Scared. In front of strangers.
I was naked.
Later, after the water was stopped, the dehumidifiers were going, and my body ached from head to toe from the stress, I realized I was nearly as traumatized about that, about “being naked”, as I was by the event.
I’ll never know what those strangers thought of me. I have no concept what I must have looked like, sounded like, seemed like. Couldn’t have been good, but it doesn’t matter, I guess. It happened, I reacted, and it is what it is.
I could use a bit more of that in my life, if I’m honest. Just be me, without trying to control what I look like, sound like, seem like. I could use more “being naked”, and being okay with that.
It’s scary, but I’m willing to try.
Without all the water.