Don’t you love it when your mind finds new ways to fuck with you while you’re asleep?  Last night (well, technically, this morning) I had a new stress dream. 

Oh, I’ve gone through the old universal ones—running late to take a final exam for a class you’ve only been to one time and now can’t remember what room it’s in; the gun that won’t shoot the bad guy, the scream that won’t come out of your throat, the legs that run in slow motion.  Yeah, all of those.  Then I’ve had one particular to living in my home town—the elevator in the Sears Tower gets stuck while I’m in it and I need to get out the escape hatch, which takes me to a rickety fire escape on the outside of the building, where it is raining ice and there are hundred-mile-per-hour winds blowing at me up there on the 90^th-something floor.  Another one that plays on my fear of heights—the amusement park ride that looks innocent enough from the ground but ends up with my little car being catapulted into the stratosphere where no amount of screaming can save me.  And even one that was unique to having gestational diabetes and a scheduled c-section towards the end of my last pregnancy—sitting in an IHOP with a mountain of pancakes that I’ve eaten half of, drowning every bite in their syrup, then suddenly realizing with horror that I’ve got three minutes to get to the hospital for my c-section!  Oh, no, I won’t make it in time, and I’ve eaten recently, so maybe they won’t do the operation, and oh, God look what I’ve eaten, the doctor will be so pissed!  And I won’t get to have the baby as planned!

But, today I had a new one.

I was going to a comedy club to meet some people.  I was alone when I bought my ticket at the counter and I got a really sucky seat.  It was seat B:G.  Now, if that means anything symbolic, please tell me.  Seat B:G ended up being in the upper level (of course), but it wasn’t rows of seats, it was tables.  Table B, seat G.  I made my way past former co-workers, past people from my kids’ taekwondo school, past old neighbors and friends and found my table and at it was a man who stank of farts.  I was gagging just standing next to him getting my stuff together.  I acted as though I had forgotten something and went to look for another seat with one of the people I knew from somewhere.

I ended up just sort of standing at a table with some people I used to work with a long time ago.  I wasn’t really part of their group, since they were talking about the present and I knew them in the past, but it was OK to be with them.  Mostly, I was worried that I hadn’t told my mom where I was.  I was all of a sudden concerned that I had left the house and didn’t tell her that I was leaving.  I was at an age where telling her was more a courtesy than actually asking for permission, so I was around 17/18 (and here’s the good part—I looked it!).  Yeah, immediately I was aware that I was all dressed up and looked really good.  But, still nagging me was the worry that my mom would go looking for me and not know where I was or when I’d be home. 

The comedy act was hard to follow.  It was way down low on the stage and I could hear it, but not really see it, so I got to chatting with some of my table-mates.  Then there was this question-and-answer thing going on with the comedian.  A guy in the audience commented that the comedian was going to Indiana next and what did he plan on doing while he was there.

“Teaching,” the comedian said, like he was pissed.  “I have to teach at the University there because I can’t make a living doing stand up, you know,” his tone was like he was accusing the audience of failing him somehow with this.  “There are bills and I’ve got kids and a wife and a house to pay for.  It’s not all laughs and cocktails, my life, let me tell you!” 

Now, at the end of this bitter spiel, the comedian was stuttering he was so angry.  So, I muttered something about how maybe his speech impediment didn’t help his career any, and the women next to me laughed.  OK, for one thing, I’m not one to ever make fun of speech impediments, so saying this is so out of line with who I am, but secondly, he didn’t have a speech issue, he had an asshole issue—the stuttering was only from anger, which was probably the real reason why his career wasn’t doing well.  Who wants to see a bitter comic?  

Anyway, I must’ve said it louder than I thought because the comic heard me.  So, he starts shouting at me to come down there and face him and who the hell am I making fun of people with speech problems.  The thing is, now he’s stuttering like crazy, like he really does have a speech problem, he can hardly get the words out.  The people at my table start scooting away from me and acting like they don’t know me, and the people from other places in my life are whispering to each other and looking at me like I’m shit, and I don’t know what to do.  So, I just stand there and wait for the dream to end.

It was an awful dream, but not all that surprising.  I have been under an ungodly amount of stress lately, and funny how all of the stressors were so well represented in my little night drama.

The anniversary of my mom’s death is coming up=Pretty basically symbolized in the dream.

My husband’s job has been very insecure (but it seems we’ve been given a reprieve this time), and I’ve frankly been quite pissed about it=The bitter and angry tirade given by the comic.

I’ve been thrust into a lot of intense social situations where I’ve felt quite judged and like I don’t really fit in.  I’m a shy and socially awkward person to begin with, so I’m always afraid of screwing up and being misinterpreted and coming off as bad=Again, the dream just provided a scene to put that all out there for me, both with being unable to find a seat and then with being the brunt of the angry comic.

I don’t know that I’ve ever had a dream where a symbolic me has been both the aggressor and the victim though, that was pretty different!

So, when I think about it, it all works out after analysis and there are no surprises.  The other thing worth mentioning about this dream though, was that I had it in the morning.  My alarm had gone off and I was so exhausted from yesterday that I rested my head back down on the pillow and thought, Oh, I’ll just close my eyes for a couple of minutes.  We all know that doesn’t end well.  Then I had the dream and then woke up and then had to hustle everyone up because we we’re all running late and were going to miss the bus and the bell and everything else that matters.  If I had just gotten up on time, I would have escaped the dream, weird, huh?

How much you want to bet that tonight I have the nightmare where I miss my alarm and have to hustle everyone out of bed because we’re running late and we’re going to miss the bus and the bell and everything else that matters?