Sometimes I can connect my dreams to absolutely everything that happened that day. That doesn’t make them any less weird.
Take this past Monday’s dream as an example. I’m scrubbing walls in what appears to be a hospital corridor. Hospitals and universities I’ve never seen are recurring themes in my dreams. Sometimes a dream will start out in a skyrise glass hospital building and will somehow morph into an old brick university and library.
My colleague and I tried to figure out this week why hospitals all the time. I concluded it’s because during my childhood I was basically bubble girl. Thanks to combinations of bronchitis, whooping cough and the croop, I spent many winters, including the odd Christmas even, hospitalized in an oxygen tent. Too bad my mom never got pictures. That would be priceless. If only they had Facebook back then instead of polaroids.
As a complete aside, someone told me the other day that she bought some Polaroid film for an art project she’s working on and the cashier looked at her kind of strange before commenting, “You don’t look like a bad person.” Apparently only perverts and pedophiles buy polaroid film these days, so if you’re trying to do anything legitimately artsy with them, be forewarned of the black looks you’ll receive.
Often in these hospital dreams, I’m on a glass elevator that flips like a salt and pepper fair ride and overlooks a massive city. Heights and ferris wheels are two things which terrify me in real life. In the dream, I keep it together.
Once I finish cleaning the walls, I start wiping caked-on food off patient tables that are sitting in the hallways. I guess I must shower after that because the next thing I recall is coming out of a bathroom completely naked. A woman, who is supposedly my boss (my actual boss is male–no connection), passes me in the hallway. She is also naked, but tells me that I shouldn’t be running around like that.
I end up back in the bathroom with a very large, crochet-like hook in my hand, which I’m using to pull tiles out of the ceiling. As I pull one tile out, a waterfall of milk cascades from it. One by one the same thing occurs with each tile. Realizing I need a way to collect this milk, I grab the nearest thing I can find which is a giant garbage bin. Proud of my quick thinking, I move along collecting the milk in it. To my horror, I suddenly remember that I used the garbage bin to collect the hospital waste. What if this milk is meant to be some sort of ration for me? What am I going to do? I can’t tell my boss that I’ve contaminated the milk because she’ll think I’m an idiot, but I also can’t tell her I drank it all because that’s way too much for one person to drink in one sitting. The dilemma of my predicament awakens me.
Let’s connect these strangely scattered dots. I was cleaning the night before and decided my next cleaning project should be to scrub down every wall in the house.
Living with two teenage boys, there’s very little privacy. Of course, they will probably make the same claim about living with two women in the house. Whenever I shower, I always have to make sure neither they nor their friends are around before I run from one room to another. It’s a bit of a pain to have to plan and cart all your clothes into the bathroom so I’m constantly warning, “Close your door. Not dressed and coming through.”
My mother used to do the exact same thing and I used to think she was crazy paranoid. Now I know exactly how she felt.
The day of the dream I made mashed potatoes for dinner when I discovered there was, wait for it…no milk.