The Giant Crab Dream

30 Minus 2 Days of Writing (2013)
Day 3: “And the next thing I knew”

Many years ago, my fiancée, Diana, had a nightmare about being chased by a giant crab. She told me about this dream back in the earliest days of our relationship when we were still in our initial dating phase. By my estimate, that would place us in 2004.

I think most of us would agree that it’s usually a drag listening to somebody recount the events of their dreams. Dreams are boring as hell when they don’t have anything to do with you. This time was no exception. She told me about it with excruciating detail, and I did my best to nod understandingly while pretending to give a crap. Those were days when I was too polite to daydream while she was talking.

The worst part about Diana’s crab nightmare is that she has no recollection of ever dreaming it. About a year or two after Diana told me about this crab dream, I brought it up in conversation, and she had no idea what I was talking about.

“I promise you that wasn’t my dream,” she said. “Are you sure you didn’t hear this from somebody else? Maybe this was your dream, and you just don’t remember it.” This was her response nearly eight years ago, and it remains her official stance to this day.

With all due respect, Diana is completely full of shit. For whatever reason, I have a better memory of this stupid episode than she does. Other people’s dreams are the kind of thing that I would usually forget about as soon as I hear about them. This one, unfortunately, has permanently occupied precious real estate in my brain and prevents me from learning foreign languages. Diana was the one who had that dream, and she was the one who bored me to tears by telling me all about it. I remember that conversation with specific detail. Here’s a little taste of what I remember her saying.

This dream was messed up! I was running as fast as I could, but I could never get far enough away. The crab was snapping its claws at me and foaming at the mouth.

*Gnash!* *Blargh!* *Grahhr*! [I shit you not, she actually made those sounds like she was freaking Michael McClure or something.]

I kept running and running, and the whole time the crab kept reaching out to snap at me. It was terrifying. At some point, I figured running was pointless, so I grabbed a big stick and tried to take a stand like I was Gandalf in the Mines of Moria. You know, “You shall not pass!”

Anyway, I swung my stick up at the crab, and the bastard just snapped it in half with its claw. Shit. So I threw the stick down and I started to run again.

I kept running and running, and there was nowhere to hide. Then I remember tripping and falling to the ground. Just when the crab was about to cut me in half or eat me or something, I woke up sweating and panicked. Oh my God, it was just a dream. I was relieved. It was still really early in the morning, so I plopped back down into bed. And the next thing I knew, I was asleep again, and I was dreaming the same dream, and that motherfucker was still chasing me. I was so pissed!

To this day, Diana denies that she ever had this dream. She doesn’t even remember telling me that story. Our friends think it’s silly that I carry on this way about something as trivial as a forgotten dream. I carry on this way because Diana tells me I’m crazy. That’s bullshit, man.

I carry on this way because Diana needs to learn how to take accountability for her boring subconscience, and her boring stories. I carry on this way because Diana owes me an apology for wasting precious moments of my life by telling me a story which she no longer remembers. I carry on this way because Diana is the crazy one — not me. Diana herself admitted this once, but she has since totally forgotten.

30 Minus 2 Days of Writing (2013)
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