Dream weirdness

a few minutes ago I woke up from a dream, the primary result of which was to tell me that even in the made up fiction in my head I can't get answers.

Plot outline was fairly simple. Myself, my ex, a friend of hers and mutual friend of both of ours and a couple of kids are in a house that seems much like the house I grew up in, though I can't be sure. A bunch of stuff happens with regards to taking care of the kids that I assume represents som subconscious desire for a family. There's a tangent for some reason into the details about the production of zippo lighters that I don't quite get. I'm going to start referring to the harpies as D, R, and C so I can keep this straight in my still foggy head. + four kids whose names I can't readily remember. The kids get fed and watered (not literally, like they're plants, it's a metaphor) and C eventually has to take her kid home. That leaves D and R. So two kids are playing nicely and myself and the child I'm more inclined to think of as a social terrorist even though I don't remember now what his name. He's one of C's kids I think, Blue eyes, blond hair. Kind of like (as I think about it now) something I would have expected from Children of the Corn. Me and social terror start hanging out. And eventually it starts to get late so I try to get him to fall asleep. It takes a while. As he finally starts going to sleep the other two kids appear and also start to nod off.

This is when the conversation begins D and R start talking. Part of that conversation is our history and relationship and all the mistakes and screw-ups. Some of my biggest problem with how things eded was lack of closure and lack of aswers. Conversation starts leading me to believe that something profound might actually be said.

Oh, I need to back up here. So the kids have dinner and then me and social terror kid that for some reason I want to call Caleb but I think that's wrong, start goofing off and he manages to coax an extra chicken salad sandwich from me. Why chicke salad? I have no idea. So he gets a little more to eat that the others.

Okay, back in. So D and R and talking about discussing a topic of greater than nominal interest to me. And part of that conversation involved her history of cheating on me. Oddly, I couldn't even remember, for that matter, I can't remember now even though I'm awake, the names of all the other guys. But she seems rather nonchalant about it and that raises my temper some. Like I want answers, to understand shit. So in the middle of part of this discussion I notice that social terror kid (not-Caleb) is fussing some in his sleep and D and R are like "take him into the other room because if he wakes up, he'll take up the other kids." So I pick him up and carry him out and as I walk out the door of the room I look down I notice that the kid has starting crying a little louder and tured a deep purple-blue. I don't mean like normal choking blue or hypothermia blue, I mean like the kid from Charlie and the Chocolate factory, fucking Ompla Lompa blue. So I start freaking out and that makes R freak out. At this point I start trying to burp him. Conversation goes something like this;

me: "the kid's turned blue, what do I do?"
R : "I don't know what you should do. Ask the doctor what you should do."
Dr: "You should be burping him."
me: "I'm already doing that. You got any other ideas?"

The I look down and the kid has woken up, turned back to his normal, non-blueberry color and is staring up at me. Please also note at this point I don't know where the hell a doctor in fresh clean scrubs came from. It's like like OR 2 was in the next room. Nor do I know why any sane medical professional would consider burping over the Heimlich. But it's a dream so some amount of latitude is granted.

So the kid is looking up at me and he turns his head and after a comically appropriate pause, and with the perfect sense of timing, the kid effectively projectile vomits chicken salad onto the shoes of the doctor. So we clean the kid up. He looks exhausted. Tired. Trying to fall asleep but the bile in his mouth won't let him. Eventually we get him back to bed, the other two kids are still sleeping. At this point one would expect the dream conversation to lull back, but no, this is the point at which my dream ends.

So all this really tells me is that even in the fiction in my head, I can't get answers; can't get closure years after the fact. And that annoys me.

Oh, and much like Gremlins, never feed chicken salad to child after sunset.