For those of you who don’t know, Italy unfortunately does have its own Ted Kaczynski, so to speak, and he has been leaving random bombs in the northeastern part of the country since 1994. No one has been killed by these bombs yet, but several have resulted in severe injuries, including amputations and loss of sight.
He may share a name with the America’s Unabomber, but that’s really where the similarities end. This guy in Italy doesn’t have an apparent motive as he’s made no economic or social demands and his victims seem completely random–except for the fact that he has placed several devices where children were likely to come across them, and, in fact, have.
It’s a horrible story, and now authorities think maybe they know who’s behind it. I’m not sure if the television portrayal is meant to help bring this guy to justice, give him ideas, or make him really, really angry, but it’s had some unintended side effects on me.
Just one (so far), and it really wasn’t so much scary as freaking weird. OK, you twisted my arm.
This television show is on Tuesdays, so I’m not quite sure why several days later, I dreamed that there was a group of Italian investigators searching the house I grew up in (in America) for an Italian Unabomber bomb.
To give you the layout, in that house, there are two bedrooms upstairs on opposite ends of the house, connected by a hallway with the staircase taking up the middle chunk of the top floor. Open spaces that we called the cubby hole* run along the entire length of the house on both sides of the bedrooms.
So, in the dream, I had been changing clothes in one end of the cubby (which I would never do) when I noticed that there was suddenly a group of Italian police officers searching the opposite end of cubby hole. And, interestingly, while they were searching, I realized that I had about 200 lovely hand and shoulder bags that I had apparently completely forgotten about. In fact, there was the cutest little red number that was really speaking to me. Only it doesn’t exist in real life.
Anyway, they searched the whole place and didn’t find anything, but then I suddenly remembered that I had smelled something burning the night before. This was actually true. Don’t you love the way your subconscious incorporates reality into your dreams? Well the night before the dream, I smelled something really pungent burning–much stronger than ordinary wood. It was around only for about 10 seconds, and it disappeared. I still don’t know what it could’ve been, but my subconscious figured it must’ve been a bomb. Placed by the Italian Unabomber. Obviously.
Back in the dream, I told the woman investigator (I think she might’ve been the blonde from Without a Trace, but I can’t be sure) about the burning smell, and she was more convinced than ever that they needed to continue searching. Within minutes, she found a small bomb inside a book in the corner on the floor; the other officers then yelled that they had found another on the phone line. So there you go.
I woke up quite anxious and after I shared the terror with P, I knew what I had to do next.
Even before taking Luna out for a walk, I had to check our dream interpretation book, which, because it’s Italian, also gives you the lottery numbers you should play based on your nightly imaginings. I’m not joking. The numbers are actually the point of the book–the interpretations are just bonus. This, btw, was my birthday gift to P. And he loved it. I swear.
I didn’t find much out there regarding what war my subconscious is waging, but I do know that I should be feeling lucky about 4, 17, 22, 34, 37, and 77. If anyone plays those and wins, I’ll be happy to accept a percentage of your proceeds. If anyone plays those and bad things start happening, you should really watch Lost. And not get on a plane.
After I checked my dream book, it was time to take a more-than-ready, butt-swishing Luna out for a little stroll in the gusting wind. The past couple days, we’ve had amazing winds around here, especially at night and into the early morning. Because of this, the temps finally feel more February-like and drying clothes outside has been heavenly, so I can’t complain.
But I can bundle up. And I did. And then I turned around to tell P we’d be back shortly. And he told me to get the camera.
That’s me on the right, in case you can’t tell the difference between the famous sketch and me. For any of you out there who know my last name, perhaps this is an extra amusing side-by-side. Think about it.
So, in conclusion, I’ve been tempted to do it before, but now I’m pretty sure–it’s time to swear off Italian TV forever.
It’s just no good for me.
*Please note that I am using the first definition listed here, and *so* not the fourth one. We most certainly did not have two of those running along the sides of our house. Ew.