Interesting dream last night. In it, my mom and I were lying in bed, in the bedroom of the first apartment we lived in in Pittsburgh. (No need to page Dr. Freud. Sometimes a cigar is just a cigar, kids.) The door was closed and, every now and again, a random strange noise would come from the other side of it. I wouldn't say that it was an immediately bad noise, nor was it good. Just odd. It was late -- like 3 or 4 a.m. -- so things seemed much more threatening than they might in broad daylight. I woke my mom up and made her stay awake until she heard it. When she did, her only action was to get up and make sure the door was secure, then she went right back to sleep. This seems like the right behavior for my mom, and the dream did that weird thing where the scene and tone shifted suddenly. And, no, I don't really remember to what.
But in the shower this morning -- yes, I do some of my best work in the shower, mostly because it's quiet, I'm only sort-of awake and no one is in immediate need of anything -- I realized that this was one of the fundamental differences between my mom and I. I would have opened the damn door, if only to see if it was a ravenous bugbladder beast or Ed McMahon, both of whom make some mighty strange noises in the middle of the night, I suspect. While there is some risk, you can't deal with the situation unless you can see what the heck you're dealing with. That's me, tho. I'm not sure either response is the "right" one.
Here endeth today's psychoanalysis. Carry on.