Blogging in my Dreams

On Saturday, I slept in. Like really slept in. I went to bed around 2 or 3 am and slept until after 11. I half opened my eyes, and the dog came and laid down next to me because he loves sleep in mornings. They mean I’ll lay there and pet him for a bit instead of jumping up to get the day started. I then fell back to sleep. Finally, I woke up after 12 and put the dog out (what a good dog to wait all that time). We curled up back in bed, and I read a short mystery story. Then, I went back to bed until after 2. Oh, those kinds of Saturdays are sometimes very welcome.

In all that sleeping, I was bound to dream. I had a dream that I was walking in New York City. For some reason, I was carrying a very, very heavy bag with me. I walked to the far reaches of the city for no apparent reason, and then I turned around and started to hoof my way back across the city. Again, I have no idea what I was accomplishing. Maybe this was symbolic of my rather non-productive Saturday.

As I was trudging through the city with this heavy bag, I remember coming across huge escalators, and somehow they were a shortcut to where I needed to go (even though I didn’t know where I was going). So, I rode the escalators to the top and found that I was confronted with a giant sliding board that curved all around like a water park slide. That was the only option; I couldn’t go back down the escalators, so I had to take the slide. I was dreading it with that heavy cumbersome bag, but I made it down the slide.

The slide deposited me in a very, tiny cramped space with no exit except for two PVC pipes about 4 inches across. (Maybe I should have played less Super Mario Brothers as a child.) I was highly distressed in the dream because I had no idea how I was going to get my body stuffed inside the pipes to get out, and I knew I was going to have to leave my bag behind.

Here’s the most bizarre part of the dream — as if the rest of the dream wasn’t bizarre enough. The slide ended in  a mass of  circular curls, and I thought to myself, “I need a picture of that, so I can describe this on my blog.” I took out a camera and was trying to maneuver all around the small room to get a good angle for the picture.  I consciously shoved aside my panic and told myself to get the picture and then worry about how to get out. Then, I woke up.

I’ve always told people that being a blogger changes my perspective on life because it makes me pay attention to stories. I just don’t think it’s ever invaded my dreams before.

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