Blarrgh. I woke up this morning at seven AM with that familiar tooth-falling-out nightmare.

That one hasn’t bothered me in a long time–once I actually had a crown fall out, and had to cement it back in until I could get to a dentist, it became a familiar terror, and my subconscious was forced to retire it and stick to the other perennial favorites, which in my case are “attacking thing that won’t die,” and “animals dying in cages because I forgot about them,” with occasional terribly rare cameos by “my tattoo is broken/vanishing.” (I had thing-that-won’t-die a few weeks back, but fortunately have been spared the cages so far, and the tattoo one almost HAS to be tied up in identity issues, which generally aren’t a problem for me these days.)

I also frequently have moving nightmares, but when you’re actually moving, the brain hates to be so predictable. (And I’ve had dreadful Con anxiety dreams before, the most memorable of which involved being attacked by zombies, and as I went down, my last dying thought was “I think we’re out of Bad Egg t-shirts…” But I only get those the week before cons.)

However, apparently the statute of limitations on tooth dreams passed or something, so there it was again. It was fairly mild–one broken eyetooth–and I knew where a dentist was, so it wasn’t nearly as bad as it could have been, but I still woke up with that sick “urrrrgghhh…” sensation.

It’s a common dream, and while I put very little stock in dream interpretation beyond the glaringly obvious, the glaringly obvious in this case links it to a sensation of situations out of control. Which, since I’m still panicky about all the stuff that needs to get done before I move, is pretty understandable.

I think I’ll go risk the bad ozone day and scurry around the lake while it’s still early, just to excise the demons. Then I’ll come back and start trying to knock down some of these things-to-do, in hopes of forestalling any more such nightmares.

And I see the dentist next week anyway.