The Best (Worst) Anxiety Dream Ever (2150-2169)


I’m going to start with the junk before I expose my innermost anxieties; mostly because this was one long-ass dream and who gives a shit, really? But for the connoisseurs of the subconscious, it has it all as far as anxiety dreams go: water, dead pets, uncomfortable sexuality, never-ending stairs that go down, lost voice, fear of technology, laundry and media. All swirled into a rest-depleting mash-up of anxiety which I find vastly entertaining.

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Gold dust. That’s right. Gold dust. Zeb picked this up at an estate sale last summer because it’s cool, and it is, but it has sat on my kitchen counter, pissing me off, for at least six months. I dumped it in my yard. Maybe the boys will dig up a shiny nugget.

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My trainers. I have worn them all the way out. There is part of me that thinks like someone from the Great Depression, “What if I need some shoes for wearing in the garden, or just in case I don’t have any other shoes? I’ll need these!” But I don’t, and I have wicked plantar fasciitis so I’m trashing them.

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I have been working around this box for months. Today I finally picked it up and the sucker is empty! I have been harboring an empty wipes box in my office for months! And why? Because I’m too lazy to pick it up and realize it’s empty and I haven’t used wipes in years! Gah! TRASH.

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This is the sleeve for a mini I-Spy disc which got stuck in my slot loading DVD rom (duh) and I had to beg Stacey to get it out. I trashed the disc long ago and lookie here. I hate junk pile-ups in corners. TRASH.

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I took a Pilates matt class that the university rec center. It was pretty dull so I wrote down the routine so I could do the work-out at home. Which I never did. I’ve had this laminated paper for, what, 13 years? Not much survived my the fire but somehow this did. What luck. TRASH.

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A bookmark and costume jewelry ring. I’m going to give them both to my friend’s daughter.

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Dumb, plastic toys. GONE.

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Tiny things that hang out in the corners of of my kitchen counters. GONE.

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Vintage salt and pepper shakers. The cap is broken on one which makes them impossible to sell. GONE.

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Buzz Lightyear and this Bakugan missed the boat to Kilimanjaro. I think I’ll leave them somewhere a kid can find them, even better than a lucky penny.

Okay, on to my crazy dream.

I was in the Boulder High auditorium with Zeb and his best friend Casey. The teens were preparing for a pep rally and we were watching from the bleachers. I was holding my (dead in real life, but alive in the dream) cat Yuki and (ditto) dog Kip. There was a teenage girl passing out hugs for some reason and as she hugged some middle-age guy who (like us) had no business being there, he stuck his hands down her pants and squeezed her butt. This made me uncomfortable and worried.

The kids erected a maze in the center of the auditorium that I raced through to the center while holding my alive (dead) cat. At the center there was a steep staircase that led to the basement where a party was going on. People were dancing and having fun and I noticed a twisty water slide-like structure but the water was moving uphill. I got on one of the floating seats (with my cat) and we started sliding up the slide. I worried about keeping Yuki dry and pondering the wisdom of taking a cat on a water slide.

Suddenly we headed downhill and I was dumped yet another story down into a large swimming pool. I held Yuki over my head to keep her dry but she got dunked anyway. She was spitting mad as I tried to hold onto her and kick to the side of the pool without using my hands. I tried to call to a person on the ground to help me out of the pool but I couldn’t get any sound out (natch).

I hauled myself and the cat out of the pool and tried to figure out how to get back to Zeb and Casey. I found a spiral staircase (going down, still) and started descending. It was made of a highly polished and lacquered wood but the further down I went, the crazier it was. It doubled back on itself, the treads sloped, in places all I could do was sit down and slide on my butt. I appreciated how smooth the stairs were, otherwise I would have gotten splinters. I figured that the staircase had to be some kind of botched high school wood shop project.

At the bottom I was in some kind of student center. There was a coin-operated laundry room and then a TV/arcade room. It was bustling with students, some wearing space costumes while playing video games. I made my way through it and found another spiral staircase (you guessed it, going down) that turned into a tree as I descended. I’m still holding a wet, snarling cat and I’m trying to climb down a very large tree.

I got almost to the bottom when I realized that I was no longer in a school but in the woods. A man walked up and started climbing the tree. In fact, lots of people showed up and started climbing. I asked him if there was any way to get back to the school that didn’t involve the tree. He said yes but it involved walking through the spooky woods. His instructions were too vague (turn left at the scary oak and then bear right at the creepy maple, etc.) so I decide to go back up the tree. But now I had an iPod and a phone and the cords were hung up in the tree, keeping me from moving either up or down. Plus, I could see how difficult it is to climb the tree as people were struggling up it and I couldn’t figure out how to do it while holding a cat.

Finally, I was so tangled up that I was hanging by my knotted cords and I could see my feet dangling. At this point I realized that I must be dreaming and I could make it all stop by just waking up, which I did.

If only Jeff were here. I’d wait for him to pour the milk on his bowl of cereal and I’d torture him with a blow-by-blow. Kind of like I’m torturing you.

Featured image courtesy of: www.disordersatschool.com

10 thoughts on “The Best (Worst) Anxiety Dream Ever (2150-2169)

  1. Incredible description of dream (which I hadn’t read before). An endless supply of grist for your mill. Keep on grinding.

    This is the perfect vehicle for your sarcastic sense of humor!

    Self promotionally speaking,I do wonder if you would ever have developed it without having been tortured by having to endure my “gifts” of trips to the motorcycle shops every Saturday. My contribution your liberal education. (However, in my defense, I did reward you with a doughnut at the end. Big of me!) So other centered, as always.

  2. you’re not making this shit up, right? so what are you doing, the Kerouac thing of keeping a notebook at the bedside, rolling over upon awakening & writing it all down? me, my dreams are usually blah, and hard to recount in any detail. something I’ve wondered about…

    • Nope, not making this up. I don’t often write my dreams down but some are so spectacular that I have to hold onto them. I posted this dream some time ago when I was on FB and I was “friends” with Cliff. He must have been drinking because he took it upon himself to determine that the dream meant that I needed to get (my) pussy on (his) wood. One strike and you’re out scumbag; I blocked him after that. He was lucky I didn’t forward that email to his wife, not that she’d be surprised I’m guessing.

      I had quite the dream last night. I woke up saying “I hate you!”

Really? No way.

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