I had a nightmare.
Not your average wake-up-stressed-out nightmare.
This was a wake-up-barely-breathing nightmare.
I started to sing an ABBA song to myself to calm my nerves.
Something peppy and upbeat to combat the fear coursing through my body.
“Alexa, turn on the light,” I commanded.
Alexa, that smarmy little bitch, did no such thing.
“Alexa, turn on the light,” I repeated.
My Amazon Echo did not respond.
So I reached over and turned on the light.
I dreamt that someone was hurting people and I was chasing it. I cornered it in an old, scary house and looked it in the face.
The face was black, like a dementor from Harry Potter, but gradually a face emerged.
That’s when I woke up.
I texted The Swede.
I knew he’d be up at 1 am PST, 10 am Swedish time.
Sure enough, he texted me back.
He calmed me down and settled my nerves.
He didn’t laugh or make fun of me.
It’s as if he sensed that I needed to get it out of my system before I could go back to sleep again.
So he just let me vent.
What can I say?
He’s just an amazing man.
Maybe it’s because he has daughters that he seems particularly in tune with the feminine, my feminine, particularly when I’m freaking out.
But I’ll tell you, had he been in the bed with me, I would have wrapped myself around him and thanked him from the bottom of my heart.
I was SO GRATEFUL!