When I dream, I dream nightmares. From the time I was a little kid, I have dreamt terrible dreams. I will not share any of them with you, for fear of giving you nightmares, but this is certainly one of the causes of my insomnia. The only time I ever talk about them is when I go for an occasional counselling session - and that's been helpful; I've started getting some insight into what's up with that.
In fact, it is extremely rare that I remember dreaming a pleasant dream - I can only recall having had pleasant dreams on a handful of occasions, at best. They are so rare that when, a few weeks ago, I had a pleasant dream, I told Geoff about it. To my further surprise, I dreamt that same lovely dream again last week, and again, two nights ago. It was a very short and non-detailed dream, but I'll take it anyway - it was such a change for me, to wake up smiling rather than terrified, relaxed rather than sweating bullets.
Quite simply, I dreamed about two small, Ethiopian-born boys, aged 4.5 and 2.5, becoming part of our family. They were beautiful, they were happy, they became great friends with Matthew, and their names were Joe, and D.C. (not sure what D.C. was supposed to stand for - maybe some psychological mystery! Lovely as these names are, neither are names that my hubbie and I have considered!). My overwhelming love for all three of my sons was the wave upon which I awoke. I'll take that kind of night story any day. May it become our reality someday.