Last night, I dreamed I was at my grandfather’s funeral. It was a downsized version of the actual event, and no cousin there to make me laugh at the appropriate time. There were cardboard hearts with fancy cheerleader writing in place of flowers, and I would just sob and sob and sob and I would wake up sobbing. I would wake myself up and say, “it’s just a dream” and then go right back into it.
I was on a loop with it.
Eventually it went to me at my mom’s new house, which was in dire need of a swiffer in one room only and an overflowing toilet that flooded an entire wing of the house. That toilet kept overflowing and no matter how much I mopped and cleaned, it kept coming.
I switched then to my house, which was considerably bigger, and my treadmill, which is in my the back of my car right now, and it was awesome. It wasn’t janky and did everything I needed it to and suddenly I was a fabulously skinny version of me.
What the hell is happening with my subconscious???
I slept in this morning, because I could, and though my eyes are swollen and crusty from crying all night, I feel pretty good. I’m going to have some more coffee, and read my British Lit. Do another load of laundry and vacuum up the cat hair. I’ve got some hair to bang tonight after class, then home to read more Eudora Welty.
Don’t be jealous.