Looking Grumpy

I woke up grumpy. I had been having unpleasant dreams all night and there was a deep furrow between my eyes from frowning hard. I try not to drag any “dream baggage” into my waking hours but it was really difficult to put it down. I was all kinds of out of sorts. My shoulders and back hurt. I had a nagging headache. But the worst was a smoldering anger that I was harboring toward my husband. Now to be perfectly clear – he hadn’t done anything to deserve my anger or resentment. On the other hand, Dream-Sparky had definitely been at fault. You see in my dream, as I was attempting to get into the front passenger seat (with the door open) he decided to back out of the garage. I was forced to try to extricate myself and run to avoid being smacked by the open door or crushed by the car as it squeezed through the garage door opening! I managed not to die. Instead I was bumped hard by the car and thrown onto the sidewalk. I landed on my shoulder and whacked my head on the cement. When Dream-Sparky realized what he’d done, he slammed on the brakes and then leapt from the car. As he was standing over me asking if I was alright, the car rolled down the drive, across the street and over the opposite curb before coming to rest in the shrubs… I was so very angry with Dream-him. I felt better after a hot shower and a little something to eat (along with some ibuprofen). I did tell him about my dream. And he did remind me that it was Dream-him and not really him-him as an attempt to make sure my anger wasn’t going to be transferred.

My rational self is quite aware that my husband has not committed any vehicular assault. I know that no event has occurred that warrants any anger directed toward sweet and kind Sparky. However the agitation persists. To relieve myself and dispel the aggression, I’m heading to the ceramic studio to pound some clay. I find that to be most therapeutic. And as a by product I’ll perhaps create a ceramic masterpiece!
Below is a form of micropoetry called a monostitch. Some call it poetry and others don’t. I’m not going to take a stand either way.

What happens to life’s mortar in the presence of Ivy?
Tendrils of dreams curl around reality trying to reach consciousness.