I went to bed late last night and revisited familiar territory in my dreams: I work in some abstract government position, and for some reason, people refer to me as "Ray." I'm responsible for making a presentation to a large group of people, maybe a college seminar, on the subject of UAR, which I think stands for United Arab Republic but may not. In any case, I know nothing at all about UAR, and the slideshow I'm supposed to use in the presentation is filled with meaningless pictures.
Later, I'm cleaning out the desk in my office. The bottom drawer on the left side is huge, and contains stacks of folders jammed full of carbon copies of forms and documents. Buried among the folders are jars of coins, a newspaper, and a large carton of compact discs. I had been wondering where those CDs were. Now I have an armload of stuff, and I tell the woman in the adjoining office that I'm taking it all out to my car in the parking lot. However, it turns out the parking lot is miles away and I have to carry that pile of stuff across many city blocks, with people turning to stare at me.
When I think about it, I'm pretty sure that dreams are part of nature's mental health plan. My real daytime life is full of events that stress me out, but they seem manageable compared to what happens in my dreams.
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