I used to be able to recall my dreams quite often, but lately — maybe because I’m always so bone tired — I have remembered close to none.

Except last night. Last night I had a dream about a large rodent loose in the house. It was my house, except it wasn’t, and my bed wasn’t my current bed, but the bed I had when I was little, complete with the quilt my mother made (which is currently lovingly folded and vacuum packed in a bag in my linen closet). But the bed wasn’t in the right place. And the room was the over-sized walk-in closet I used as a bedroom one summer at my father’s place. You know how it goes with dreams.

It was a twin-sized bed accommodating me and my six-foot-five husband. Not even an extra-long twin. Sorry, honey.

And the rodent? It jumped up onto the foot of the bed, which had just been turned down.

“This rat is giving me a headache!” I screamed in my dream, as we tried to trap it.

It scurried up the length of the bed, over the exposed sheets and all over the pillow.

“I’m going to be sick!” I cried. “The rat germs are making my head explode!”

It was then that I started to slowly climb back into reality. For what seemed like a good half hour (but was probably only a few minutes), I was extremely confused. Was my head really exploding? Was my left eyeball really in intense pain?

Um, yes. It was. Sometimes my migraines like to visit in the middle of the night, waking me up with a “Surprise! Did you miss me?” (Why, no. No, I did not, thank you very much.)

I managed to pathetically beg Jack to get me my migraine medication (I should really keep some by the bed), while trying to get into a more comfortable (as if!) position.

While I lay there, waiting for the coveted migraine medication to take effect, listening to the sounds of my husband drifting back to sleep, I couldn’t shake the image of that large rodent running all over my pillow. Gross.

I think it will be hard for me to separate rats from migraines for some time to come.