Nachtmare

The past week has been full of bad news. My wife and I have been turning off the television without waiting around to see what the next day's weather will be like to avoid feeling more immersed in the sadness and strife. I'll take my chances on looking out the window in the morning if it means I don't have to hear any more stories about teenagers being tortured by their guardians. The only thing I could think, after I heard the sordid tale of abuse in Tracy, California, was that for every battered and emaciated child who escapes their tormentors there must be dozens more who aren't so lucky.
I'm sure that's why I had horrible dreams the past few nights. I woke up early this morning from a very Lovecraftian flurry of images, and wondered if I should try and put myself back to sleep. I have become much more cautious about what I let my son watch before he goes to bed at night. I know that he carries plenty of awful things around in his head, sometimes by pure suggestion. My own psyche has taken much more stress over the years. I've seen and read plenty of shocking stories, and always managed to put them aside before I lay me down to sleep. My standard bad dream is to agonize over some trivial annoyance, like not being able to find my classroom at school. But the sheer weight of the past week's reality has conjured up monsters like I have never seen, with tiny red eyes and pointy teeth. They live in the sewers under my house, and it is the filth that they live in that makes them stronger.
Maybe the best solution is to watch only the weather, then pull the covers up to my chin and turn out the light. Sleep tight.