Laverne and Shirley revisited and I guess I liked a baby

It seemed like I had 3 dreams, but I only remember 2. Firstly, I was living with Dad and we weren't getting along. That I was my current age and staying on his couch probably had something to do with it. 

The dynamic was familiar; he was trying to control me with punishments and speaking to me harshly, and I was hateful and resented everything he said and did. To top it all off, he was restricting me from watching my big screen TV, turning it off and taking it down from the wall angrily. 

I found myself trying to sleep with this giant TV screen crammed under me on the couch. Not too comfy, but I wasn't gonna let it go.

---

That reminds me of the time when I was living with him as a child of about 12 or so, and I wanted to watch my television shows, but he was watching the Stanley Cup playoffs. 

Guess who prevailed? Of course. But to add insult to injury he spoke dismissively of my two favorite shows while snobbishly acting as if his choice was the culturally superior one.

So, I made the ultimate stand: "If I can't watch Happy Days and Laverne and Shirley, I am going to my room!"

Well, that worked out fine for him. Saved him the trouble of having to send me there himself.  A self-punishing brat, how convenient.

---

The other dream was more benign, and I don't remember much other than there was a baby (a grandson of Greg, I presume, because he was hovering nearby) who was in my house and crawling around on my kitchen island. 

I approached him to talk to him, as I would a frog or a kitty cat or any other cute little creature I might encounter when going for a walk. This little guy answered back in English, though, and I thought that was the neatest thing. He was way too young to be so sentient and responsive.

At some point, he fell into the washing machine. It wasn't on, but of course Greg was more concerned about it than I was. I retrieved him, unspoiled from the contraption, and he was all smiles and regular baby goo-goos. Not traumatized in the least. I held him like one holds a baby and felt whatever it is people feel that hold babies.

---

I've only ever held a few babies in my life, but the one I remember most vividly was in bible study. Her name was _______. 

Something very intensely joyful resided in that little bundle of baby flesh. With bright, laughing eyes and a big gummy smile, she exuded the essence of life in its purest form. 

That warmth radiated from the center of her tiny being, outward through the baby blanket, and infused my naturally cold heart, warming it up a few degrees.

---

Not sure what any of this means, but I'm sure my shrink would have some opinions about it. Oh, well. Real life awaits. 

And my LED of afterlife communication is back on. I'm sure I am needing guidance, but I am having a hard time distinguishing just what Sharon might be wanting to tell me. 

"Sharon do you still love me?" I asked the Magic 8 ball several times.

"You may rely on it" and "Without a doubt." The answer was invariably positive.

I ventured to ask it, "Do you forgive me?" 

The answer wasn't so nice: "My sources say no." 

Oh, well, I wouldn't blame her if it took several lifetimes to get over what I put her through. But who are these sources, anyway? Damn unreliable Magic 8 ball. It's like a CB radio, you never know who's fucking with you on the other end.

---

OK. I had a brief flash of my 3rd dream. Just an image of some incredibly narrow, dangley and precarious bridge spanning a deep water ocean chasm with inhospitable water. People were stepping out onto the bridge to sightsee or whatever, and I was like, "Uh, no!" 

It was evident that once you stepped out a mere 2 feet onto the bridge you were hurled into the water. People seemed to be OK with that, but I was having none of it.