I don’t want to hear about your dreams, honey.

Have you noticed how nobody wants to hear about your dreams unless they have a dream of their own they want to share? Let’s say you had a real humdinger the night before that you want some help deciphering and mention to one of your designated people (the people tasked with listening to your most yawn-inducing crap to whom you return the favor) that you had this crazy dream last night. The words are barely out of your mouth before your well-meaning peep has pasted on the polite but not too inviting face mask. Polite because they are your designated person, but not too inviting lest you think they really want to hear about your dream. However, if they’ve had a crazy dream of their own that they need help analyzing, you’ve got some rapt attention coming your way if only until you pause a moment so they can begin talking about their dream. But this is kinda crazy, isn’t it? This lack of interest in other people’s dreams? And I’m not judging. I’m the same way. I’m just not sure why we all feel this way. Because where else but in dreams can you find these types of story lines?

I’m walking through my high school hallway in my pj’s and santa hat as you do, and the next minute I’m swimming through the air and the hallway is completely vacant because I’m late for class. I’m trying to hurry but it’s hard to move fast when you are swimming in the air. And scene change to college and the class I’m rushing to is one I’ve neglected to attend all semester long and, of course, it’s the final exam. As I’m crossing the campus, I ask the triceratops (?) at ‘Clear Ass Mud’ why it’s not called ‘Clear AS Mud’ because that’s the saying, and the triceratops starts getting all shirty with me, and I eye his giant horns and move on along. And now I’m in the jungle and suddenly I’m surrounded by a pack of monkeys who are voguing and singing to a Madonna song that is oddly not ‘Vogue’  but ‘Like a Virgin’ and very poorly on both fronts I might add. And one of them takes something off her (his?) cone bra and regards it and then me meaningfully. What is that? And oh crap, it’s poo. (heh) Right, monkeys throw poo. EW! DUCK!!! GEEZ, WAKE UP NOW!!!

I don’t often remember dreams days later, but that one was fairly memorable, and I had it just as some noise woke me up really sealing that memory in — THANKS RANDOM NOISE! But that dream is interesting in its randomness, and you’d think we’d listen to each others’ dreams if only to look at each other and think, wow, your weirdness makes me feel a little more normal.

So, I woke up this morning and needed some assistance analyzing last night’s dream which was a real-life type of dream. It was a real head-scratcher, but there were indications that it could be understood if only someone with a logical mind could jump in with me and do a little spit-balling. And I believe that though this wasn’t technically covered in the marriage vows it was certainly implied, so I asked Matthew to help me out. He feigned slight interest, but I had to watch the grinding of the gears for him to actually achieve that state, so designated person fail. Lexi started barking her potty-time notification, and he jumped up with undisguised relief and bolted for the door to let her out. I can’t be certain, but I could have sworn I heard whistling as he beat a swift retreat. Now listen, this is as close as I might ever get to therapy and I think he owed me at least a polite 30-minute whiteboarding session on my dream — nothing in depth but come on! Just go over the major themes and explore the meaning behind recurring images. Since he doesn’t ever need dream analysis, I can’t blackmail him into helping me. So, I guess I’m stuck with Lexi, the puppy. I’m so screwed.

*NOTE: I recommend that you do not urban dictionary (What? Can’t I make that a verb?)  clear as mud (though now you probably will) because ew. I googled it because I thought maybe my brain was trying to hand me a new coffee shop name — NOT Clear Ass Mud since that’s just stupid, TRICERATOPS!

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