Or Am I a Butterfly Dreaming I Am a Man?

I woke up at 6:32 this morning screaming at my wife, “When does the f***ing ship leave!!!!!”

We were not on a ship.  We were in a hotel room.  A few mornings before, I woke up Daveen by kicking her legs.  Another nightmare, something about my being interviewed for People Tools and not remembering a single fact about my book.

In this morning’s edition my extended family had just returned from our present vacation, but somehow ended up in Seattle, scheduled to leave at any moment on a cruise.  Our luggage lay scattered in a motel room with a large door at one end for truck access, but we were on the ship where I was trying to find out what time it was leaving.

My dreams usually mix one part rational with nine parts bizarre seeming rational.  The reasonable part was that you do have to check in for a cruise, and years ago three family members were late so Daveen held her ground on the gangplank for twenty minutes to prevent the ship from leaving.  But in this nightmare I couldn’t find a single employee on the ship and I was demanding that members of my family find out when the ship was supposed to leave.  They paid no attention.  I was frantic and ended up screaming at them in my mind, and finally out loud at Daveen.

Realizing we would need our luggage, I drove back to the motel to load everything into a vehicle that was a combination go kart and pick-up truck.  Again, my family would not cooperate in any way so I ended up throwing assorted belongings into whatever-it-was.  I then remembered that most of our luggage was on the ship and I should immediately return if I could find my way back.

There was a more enjoyable scene.  A famous male singer was making out with an attractive young woman who works in my office.  When I talked to him her lipstick was on his lips.  I wasn’t sure who she was, or who he was, but I became upset that this happened in my office.  Maybe I subconsciously was worried that while the cat’s away (that’s me) the mice will do anything they feel like doing.  Or is it that I would like to be doing anything which I feel like doing and the singer was a stand in for me?  Go figure.

Of course, my dream was woven of threads from my real week, which had been irritating in many ways.  For one, the Innkeeper and his wife, our hosts for several nights on Easter Island, had morphed into the leading actor and actress in “Master of the House” from Les Miz.  They didn’t charge for “looking in the mirror twice,” but they did charge for a room which no one used, a lunch they never served, and a dinner at her sister’s restaurant which no one attended.  My real life revenge was to not spend any money for souvenirs.  Take that, ministry of tourism!

Now that I am awake I realize that an hour ago I was merely in the clutches of a hugely frustrating dream.

Now that I am awake I am back in full charge of my life.  My family will listen to me.  We can find someone to check us in.  Everything is . . . under control . . . control . . . control . . .

Now that I am awake . . .

Really?

Alan