Neither a Jungian Nor a Freudian Be…

Okay all you dream therapists out there… tell me what this one means:

I was standing outside a generic theatre, not identifiable as to name or even location, and I’m not sure that it’s the theatre I am actually supposed to be attending this evening.  I am waiting for someone, anxiously looking around when a woman approaches me.  I don’t recognize her per se, but I know it’s supposed to be someone who was a former colleague of mine in a theatre for which I once worked.  She rushes up to me and says, sotto voce, “They want to give you a gift.”  And she pulls away from me.

Well, who doesn’t like pressies?  And while I wouldn’t have thought a present from this particular connection was likely, one never knows, does one?

Only now I see Dame Judi Dench coming over to me. Except… it only looks like Dame Judi, dressed like ‘M’ in the Bond movies, and not, thankfully, like either The Virgin Queen or Queen Victoria.  Instead, I know, somehow, that it’s actually a former member of the former board of the former theatre for which I formerly have worked.  She thrusts a small envelope into my hands and says, speaking in perfect received English, “Joanne’s daughter, Kimberly, thought we should give you this.”  Dame Judi walks away.

I know three Joannes.  None of them have a daughter named Kimberly.  And I wish to god I could say I know Dame Judi, but I don’t and am unlikely ever so to do.  So now I am perplexed.  Who is this Joanne and her thoughtful daughter Kimberly, and why does Dame Judi Dench/the person I know she really was want me to go to a 2,000 seat theatre and sit in the top row, corner, house right, to see a play called THE END OF THE BEGINNING?

But the next thing I know, I’m sitting in this theatre, top row, corner, house right, and I’m watching yes, you got it, Kimberly, acting very, very badly in a really badly written play that’s horribly directed.  The only saving grace is that it’s so badly lit and has so many sound effects, one cannot quite see what is going on and, blessedly, cannot hear much of what’s happening either.  The play ends, and I can finally decamp to the street outside, and I’m milling around, wondering if I should wait for something when suddenly Kimberly, who is quite beautiful, comes running up to me and says, “It was all for you!  We did it all for you!”

And I woke up.

Jeff laughed when I told him this, and I’ve been laughing too.  But… I’ve been having a lot of crazy dreams in the past few weeks.  There was the one last Monday where I dreamt I was a tomato in a vegetable bin at Wegman’s – a New York grocery store we happen to like when we’re visiting the in-laws – that kept being picked up, squeezed and then put back in the bin.  I could see the face of everyone who picked me up through my own eyes, which were obviously not visible on my tomato skin, and it was quite interesting to see how thoughtful people look when picking tomatoes.  It seems to me, thinking about these dreams in a I’m not going for therapy just yet way, that a lot of them have been about choice and about, as the play title noted, endings and beginnings.

Anyway, I thought I would write this out before the second cup of coffee and the DayCare kick in (0h, yes.  I’m packing, moving, preparing to start a new job, and fighting off a cold all at one time.. sigh) and I forget it.  Because I don’t want to forget the lesson.


One thought on “Neither a Jungian Nor a Freudian Be…

  1. while you’re at it have a go at this one:

    In my dream….

    I walk up to the Kincardine Post Office, I know it’s the Kincardine post office because I grew up in Kincardine. But the whole street has been relocated to Wiarton. So I KNOW I’m in Wiarton, but the street is from Kincardine.

    So I approach the post office and it’s either early spring or late fall, not 100% sure. The line up is out the door.

    There’s a young man, well in his early 30s anyway, with a small laptop sitting leaning against a tree.

    His name is Andrew. Andrew is at least 6 feet tall, slender build, blonde curly’ish hair, blue eyes and a beautiful smile.

    We strike up a conversation…

    {I know you’re waiting for the weird right?….stay tuned}

    He’s doing a study for the University of Guelph, the PHD question: Do more men or women feed the squirrels leftover saltine crackers while waiting in line at the post office?

    {told ya}

    Well Andrew needs to upload his day’s data back to the University and needs a wifi signal.

    I invited him back to my place as I have wifi.

    We go in my house.

    [now understand I’m a single parent living in real life, in a townhouse}

    I have a ‘super’ home. My father [who in real life has Alzhimers and this is the only point of fact other than the post office’s location in this entire dream] is playing hide n’go seek with his personal support worker, a short older gentleman.

    My mother who has become weary dealing with my dad, is in the back staircase playing World of Warcraft on a laptop. Basically she’s withdrawn from society.

    [my mother couldn’t get the wifi to work on her IPod touch on a recent vacation so that’s how tech savvy she is and the only games she plays on a computer are Scrabble and Solitaire]

    So I go out into the garage, which is like a 4-6 bay garage that you’d see in a movie involving Miami drug lords, which houses 2 SUVs, Hummer, sports car…etc

    Well Andrew is there on the couch, uploading his data, as we have a couch in the garage too. He’s very grateful….I mean VERY grateful!

    I’ve had friends who I’ve told this dream too, and anytime I express more than passing interested in a male in my vicinity, they ask me if it’s the elusive “Andrew”.


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