"A dream is a microscope through which we look at

the hidden occurrences in our soul."

Erich Fromm

Chapter 2: Questions

Twenty minutes later, I had showered and was sitting at my kitchen table, coffee mug in hand. The shower had not been as refreshing as I had hoped; my pleasant memories of a shower shared with a sexy blonde vampire had gotten me all hot and bothered, and I ended up needing to drench myself in cold water.

Amelia sat across from me and Octavia was cleaning up breakfast dishes at the sink. I felt self-conscious having Octavia there listening to our conversation, but I made the best of it. It would simply be bad manners to ask her to leave the kitchen-- the price you pay for having roommates I suppose.

"Okay, Sookie, let's begin," Amelia chirped. Next to her she had a small, wire bound black notebook with a pen which she pushed across the table to me. "This is going to be your dream journal. Keep it next to your bed and try to write down all the details you can remember as soon as you wake from a dream. Even if the events are the same, try to list more specifics each time if you can." This was definitely going to be more work than I expected.

I nodded in agreement and she continued. "Why don't you tell me about last night's dream and I'll take my own notes, for research purposes," she clarified. This last line caught the attention of Octavia, who then joined us at the table to listen to my story.

I told them all I could remember, starting with the chasing dog part and ending with the teeth falling out part. Amelia scribbled down notes furiously and they both looked a little bit stunned when I finished my tale.

"Well, that was interesting," Amelia concluded, trying her best to be tactful for once. I made myself stay out of their heads because I didn't think I could handle knowing what they really thought. But Octavia decided to put in her two-cents worth. "I don't need to know what's going on in your personal life, Sookie, but this sure sounds like you've got some real problems weighing on you. I could conjure up a spell if you want to stop the dreams for a while. Maybe you'll get caught up on some sleep that way."

Just as the tired part of me was considering her tempting proposal, she added, "of course that doesn't solve anything. The problems will still be there to deal with, you know. Your mind is telling you things that you don't want to see with your own eyes." She got up from the table and before she left the kitchen, she told me to think about her offer.

Sensing the need to lighten the mood, Amelia tried to project excitement and enthusiasm for the task at hand. "Now Sookie, I have some questions about what you just told me. If you can't remember the details, just write the questions down in the journal and maybe you can answer them the next time you dream."

"Fine, Amelia," I replied. "Let's just get on with this already." I took a few sips of coffee for some liquid courage. I was starting to have some misgivings about where this was all headed. Maybe tonight's dream would be about the joy and peace I could find in living life alone, without any roommates. I wondered how Amelia would interpret that.

"You said that sometimes the dream is a little different," Amelia began. "What changes?"

I had to think about it. "Well, it's not always an airplane in an airport. Sometimes I'm at a station and it's a bus or a train that I miss." Strange, huh?

"So what kind of dog was chasing you?" she continued. Involuntarily, my heart started racing. "Why does that matter?" I asked. Dreaming about a dog in itself had to be more important than the breed of dog, right?

"Everything matters, Sookie! Was the dog friendly or mean? Was he growling or barking? Was he running or jumping? All of these details are important since they symbolize different things," she said matter-of-factly.

"Well if I was being chased, how could he be a friendly dog? And who gets chased by a jumping dog? Of course he was running, just like I was!" I said a little too forcefully. "And I think it was… a collie," I added a bit more quietly.

"A collie?" Amelia asked me, with a knowing look. I guess I should add that my boss Sam is a true shape shifter who, coincidentally, often changes in form to a collie. "Yep," was my witty reply. She wrote something down.

"Let's move on to the cell phone. What color was it?" I looked at her quizzically and she informed me that colors have significance in dreams.

My response: "Red." Her response: "Very interesting…" and she jotted down some additional notes.

"Tell me more about the statue, Sookie. Did you recognize the 'god-like' figure before it flew away?" She had a big smile on her face at this point.

Okay, I'm not stupid. You don't need a psychology degree to realize who the collie and flying statue might represent in my life. But why would I be dreaming about Sam and Eric in this way? And what did everything else mean? The fact that I kept having the same dream over and over had to be important, right?

Amelia was persistent and I continued to cooperate through her multitude of questions regarding the rest of my dream. And the many questions I couldn't answer were written down in my journal for future pondering. The particulars she wanted to know were simply mind-boggling to me: the direction I was running, how hard it was raining, the type of airplane I saw, if others knew I was naked, how many teeth I lost, and on and on and on. Who knew when you had a dream that you were supposed to notice every specific detail?

Amelia was positively giddy by the time we finished. "I have to say, Sookie, this is going to be easier to interpret than I thought!" Yeah, yeah, yeah, I'm an open book in the dream department, I guess. "I'm certainly no expert in dream analysis, but I am sure the solution to your problems has to do with Eric," she concluded proudly. Ya think? "Keep up with the journal and we can talk again in a few days for me to add to my research." Then she looked me squarely in the eyes: "And Sookie, please be honest about everything that you remember. It's important." She bounced up from the kitchen table, grabbed her notes and what looked like some sort of "dream dictionary" from the counter, and then Hurricane Amelia was gone.

I sat at the table, clutching my coffee mug, questions swirling in my head. I looked in my new journal at the questions to be further explored and then an idea hit me. Maybe I should write my own thoughts and questions in the journal, stuff not only about my dreams, but sort of like a diary. I had only briefly kept a diary when I was a teenager but had quickly lost interest back then; yet, the idea of putting my worries down on paper intrigued me now. If what I was dreaming was indeed related to concerns in my waking life, then what better way to explore those issues?

I didn't want Amelia to see these private entries, though, in case she needed to read through my journal for her "research." It seemed wrong to place my diary entries in a different journal, however, since the ideas were supposedly all interrelated. I decided to start my personal writings about halfway through the thick notebook. A quick glance at the beginning dream entry pages and you would never think to look farther in the book for more writings.

Okay, where to begin… Eric, of course. Was he actually the solution to my problems, as Amelia pointed out, or was he more likely the root cause? What were my true feelings for him, anyway? Love? Lust? A little of both? Could a relationship between us actually work? What about the damn blood bond? And of course, the million dollar question: how did Eric feel about things? I started to write down my thoughts and then the words just kept flowing. Before I knew it, I had written a full three pages and would have continued if the phone hadn't interrupted my creative process.

"Hello?" I asked a bit hesitantly, hoping it was good news. Since I don't have Caller ID, I'm probably one of the few people left in the world who is actually surprised to find out who the caller is when I answer a phone.

"Sookie, it's Sam. You doin' alright, cher?" I was happy to hear from him and it was a relief because he sounded less strained and more like his old self. "I'm great, Sam. And things are just fine at the bar. Don't you worry."

He certainly didn't need any more problems right now. Sam's mom had revealed her true shifter nature several weeks earlier during the Great Reveal and the outcome had been less than desirable. Under circumstances still unclear, Sam's stepfather had shot Sam's mother twice, resulting in a shattered collarbone and a wound to her shoulder. She was recovering nicely after her hospital stay but there was the question of whether criminal charges were going to be filed against her husband. I wondered how things would work out now for their marriage but I didn't want to get too personal and ask Sam outright.

"I know I left things in good hands, I'm not worried," he replied. "And I can't thank you enough for helping to run things, Sook. I hope to be in Bon Temps by the end of the week and then things can get back to normal." We talked a few more minutes about recent personnel additions, some inventory issues, and upcoming bills before we said our goodbyes.

The sudden relief I felt was immense. I could see light at the end of the tunnel. If I could just hold on for the week, then things would get better. I would be able to work less, sleep more, and think more clearly. Would my crazy dreams change because of this? Or better yet, would my dreams stop altogether? Better ask Freud.