Dream World Sucks
Dreams used to be fun, but *wham* ask the universe a few questions and dreams become hard work!
- First, there were the getting lost dreams.
- Then there were the hide-from-the-dinosaurs dreams.
- After that, I was treated to a plethora of your-spirit-guide-doesn’t-like-you dreams…or ignores you, or dumps you over a hillside into a pile of shoes…I have GOT to find a new spirit guide. (I call these the “get lost!” dreams)
But last night’s foray into dream world?? I’m not sure if it’s a step up from, or just a variation of, the “get lost!” dream.
Tell me how you’d feel if you were in your 20’s, riding in a car with some hot blonde guy who was your husband, lived in a nice house
and then went away for a few weeks only to come back and find that your new home had a sidewalk for a front lawn facing mailboxes that looked like birdhouses, was crowded with other people’s stuff, and the back window of the tiny master bedroom was hideously rusted-out on the bottom?
Oh, and there was a road going over the top of your home instead of a roof and baby clothes hanging in the master bedroom. The closet door consisted of a curtain.
But I’m not done yet. It gets worse (I know, hard to believe).
Some older, overweight gentleman lurked inside the house. As I was staring out the front window at the mailboxes asking the universe, “What the hell?”, he told me that my husband was keeping me “out of duty” and that I was going to be sharing a bedroom with a man who went off to teach in another city. Unfortunately, the man didn’t like teaching very much and was probably coming back. Added to this information was the fact that my mystery roommate hated clutter and expected a neat room.
This bad dream was quickly turning into a nightmare!
At the end of this rotten excuse for a memory dump, my worthless dream husband was driving me around in a rusted out car explaining he loved someone else and said, basically the same thing as lurking-guy.
I was standing in my new room looking out the window when cheating-husband arrived with his new paramour. She looked like she’d just stepped out of a high-priced beauty salon, and the clothes on her perfect body were worth more than the house we were living in.
It did explain the high-end baby clothes hanging in the master bedroom.
I stepped outside to look around the neighborhood. The back yard was a sidewalk (No surprise there), the panorama a collage of the worst industrial areas I’ve ever had the misfortune of visiting. A deli and another store (possibly a laundromat) were directly in back of us.
Then I spotted a red building with white trimmed windows, about 30 stories high, in the distance. It meant there might be a way to escape this part of dream world.
My last thought before waking? “I’m not going to be stuck in this dump. I’ll learn how to use the bus system and get my life back.”
Problem is, during the entire dream, I don’t remember seeing one other person on the street (besides Ms. Perfection and Mr. e-husband) or one other car go by.
I suppose it’s better than the dream I had before it. All I can remember about that one was war, disease, death and standing on a barren landscape.
It’s easy to understand why I think dream world sucks.