me’s blog

Sorry this is turning into a dream journal.  It’s just that, other than complaining about my new Monday-Friday day job, I don’t have much fascinating stuff going on in my life right now that’s worthy of sharing with my two faithful readers (make that three - hi Santiago!), and when I wake up from a dream and want to remember it, I’ve found the best way to do so is to get it out in writing.  And the only place I actually write stuff these days is here.  Plus it’s always nice to get an interpretation or two from you guys.  This dream had several holes in it, but I’ll share what I can piece together.

In the dream, it seems I had some random new day job different from the actual new day job I have in real life.  My boss at this imaginary job called to tell me to meet him at some sort of job-related assignment which happened to be in a house right across the street from the house where I grew up.  Suddenly I found myself there, in a room full of men and women who were drinking heavily and using copious amounts of the drugs I used to use, with porn of both gay and straight varieties playing on muted television sets in the background.  I also remember that 80’s music was being played from one of those mini-jukeboxes found atop tables in New Jersey diners.  (If I have a spotty dream, you can bet that one of the things I won’t forget is the music!)  The other thing I recall about the dream is that my sister was there, completely sober and - despite her love of 80’s music - clearly very uncomfortable.  Almost as uncomfortable as I was when I saw her.

Now, I don’t remember actually doing drugs in the dream, but the next thing I do remember is locking myself in the bathroom at the party, clearly having gotten myself very high, and staring into the mirror as I wondered if I could get away with pretending as though this hadn’t happened.  My real-life sobriety anniversary of five years is coming up in February, and the last thing I’d want to do is start all over again counting days.  So after much deliberation I decided to make myself presentable, leave the party, and not tell anyone that I’d relapsed.  When I left the bathroom, my sister had disappeared from the party.  I’m assuming she knew my ill-advised little secret.

Oh, and when I was pulling myself together in front of the bathroom mirror, I happened to notice that my hair was longer than it is now - maybe 3 or 4 inches on top, kind of thick and wavy, and it looked really good.  Such is truly the stuff of dreams!

The only other thing I recall is being outside the party with my imaginary boss from my imaginary new job, walking to his car, and encountering my parents’ next door neighbor and her son in their car, which was parked on the street.  My boss started a conversation through the open sunroof with Mrs. Addison, who clearly did not want to be talking to this guy.  He mentioned something to her about seeing her again soon at LegoLand (?), and she just kind of nodded, rolled her eyes, formed a politely noncommittal response, and drove off with her son.

That’s when I woke up.  First breathless with panicked confusion - then, moments later, relieved.

Thoughts?

This entry was posted on Sunday, December 2nd, 2007 at 7:47 am and is filed under Uncategorized. You can follow any responses to this entry through the RSS 2.0 feed. You can skip to the end and leave a response. Pinging is currently not allowed.