I dreamt I ate my husband

Ok, so the dream was pretty strange. First he was talking incessantly, which is something he does often. He likes to keep me up way past late to talk, hoping i will come to some real epiphany of some point he's trying to make, which is nearly impossible for me when I'm tired. So i typically fake it hoping he'll shut up.  That's cruel, and I know it. However, he knows I can't think when I'm tired and he does it anyway because he lacks self-control (yes, he is the guy who will eat 6 boxes of cookies because they are there. Nobody put them out of his reach, so he ate them all). Anyway, the dream. So he's talking. And talking. And then I stab him, in passing (and this is also strange, because there was no malicious intent. it was just to see what would happen.)  over & over with a plastic butter knife to discover that he's made of cake. Then we eat him. He is included. He eats himself and says all the while how he isn't a fan of cake. His skin was frosting, he had a layer of red-velvet and chocolate on the inside. Granted this followed a dinner which was followed by chocolate cake. I'm pretty sure it's the strangest dream I've ever had, next to the one where I dreamt about being in a hotel with a bride undergoing female circumcision, then getting a phone call from my x-husband and telling him to come pick up his eyes, which I had in a box in my pocket; then we (my son and I) were going up to the ground level from the top floor of a hotel in an elevator that was brass and green, where we emerged on the beach to find penguins laying eggs and dolphins & whales beaching themselves to talk to us. The interpretation of that one makes sense. Just ask if you're interested and I'll let you know what it all meant. The crazy part is that the interpretation came true. I wonder if this one will come true either literally or interpretatively. Either way it's pretty weird.
  Lately I have been hoping for a lot of death. This sounds morbid, and it is, but I can see so many outcomes improving if someone dies. Not always the same person in my fantasy, but it will usually be in some fantastic or horribly boring way. Never the same way twice, and it's a lot like the show '1000 ways to die' with bad acting and silly props. One fantasy, the least fulfilling, included a meteor and a hot dog. That one was my mother. She was eating a hot dog, which is against everything she lives for, then a meteor struck her and only her in a crowd of people. Right through the heart, which didn't bleed. The fantasy got weird, and maybe it was actually a dream, but the hole soldered itself from the heat and she went on like nothing ever happened. I think these strange thoughts are a result of combined stress and lack of sufficient sleep. I have been working a lot of long hours and have been very angry with my husband irrationally. The poor guy has to get surgery on his good foot now. The other was blown up and rebuilt in the military. Ya, he has a bionic foot. It's made of metal on the inside and looks like a normal foot on the outside. I wonder if that's where the cake dream came from... The other foot has been compensating and is full of arthritis and fluid now. He is afraid they are going to remove one foot and he doesn't know which one. This is a terrible prospect and he's been pretty depressed about it. He is the most emotional person I have ever met. He still goes about cooking constantly and randomly unproductively cleaning, and randomly cleaning up the property so we can sell it, but as untidy as he is, I find myself furious a lot. You know why? My therapy is to clean. I feel better if I clean the house. Since I don't have time, I expect him to find my therapeutic methods therapeutic also and am irrationally angry that he doesn't. How 'bout them apples! I feel like I might just be crazy after all.

Recently, in a court hearing, my mother submitted her testimonial time line of my life. This, of course, just outlines every mistake I've ever made in the past 20 years, not anything before my formative teen years. Every thing that embarrassed her. Her first statement was that 'there is something wrong with Jennifer,' which then evolves into her qualified clinical diagnostic that I am a sociopath and have a social disorder. Mind you, mom never graduated college, and her course of study while there was not anything to do with the sciences of human nature. After this strange diagnostic, she outlines, with many mistakes and presumptions, everything I have ever done that she considers a blemish to her pride, which primarily includes the relationships, pregnancies and deliveries of my children. She then accuses me of being a criminal mastermind and gracefully orchestrating the secret abuse of my children. She makes it known with pride that she has always been the one behind every investigation conducted against me over the past 17 years. She outlines several things that either never happened or were benign until she twisted them in her head. It was a horrid display that a daughter should never have to endure from her mother. Strike that, no human with any decency or honor should ever utter these things in such a tone even under breath. I should like very much to relate the entire document, however the last 20 years worth of my mistakes are lengthy indeed, numbering 5 pages. At one point about a month ago, she also documented how devious my extended family is and how little she could trust them with the care of children, then turned around in this document to say just the opposite.
I am encouraging anyone who has ever known me to reach out and make written statements as to the treatment my mother offered throughout my upbringing, and the treatment that I have offered my own children. If you, or anyone you know, has ever known me to be a sociopath or a criminal mastermind, please let me know. If you know of any incident where my mother's mothering skills were less than stellar, please make it known to me in an email. I didn't realize that fighting for my children would include slander and mud slinging, but since it is now, I have 4 weeks to mount a response to this terribly disgusting display of impropriety.
With fondness, I recall the time in the park where my mother threw herself on the ground kicking and screaming to feign an example of what a tantrum looks like. This was directed at a toddler who had no idea what she was doing and thus screamed all the more. I wish I had taken a video of the ordeal. With no regular discipline in her daily routine, my mother confused the toddler, who has turned out quite spoiled and fussy. He is the epitome of the frail child who needs constant minding, which, in her testimonial, is because I was a meth addict. Please understand I have never used or even tried meth. However, with my mother's extensive psychology study under her belt, I'm sure her diagnosis is accurate.