If dreams are our subconscious working out issues from our everyday life, the episode that played out in my head last night is screaming that I need a therapist—like YESTERDAY! I’ve spent most of the morning trying to analyze the weirdest dream I can recall ever having.
I was back in my rural East Texas hometown preparing to attend prom. Not as the svelte 17 year-old teenager I wish I had been, but in my current 43 year-old run-down body. I was dressed in Sweet Pea’s prom dress but not her matching shoes. Strangely enough, in reality I can actually wear her shoes. Her prom dress, though, would barely fit my right arm, and only because it’s slightly smaller than my left. I self-analyzed that this portion of my dream spoke to my weight loss efforts. It also might be addressing a deep-seeded resentment that Sweet Pea won’t let me wear her shoes.
In the next part of my dream, I was standing alone against the wall at the prom as I watched my classmates dance and have a good time—actually this was more a flashback to my real senior prom. I kept hoping the DJ would play Wham!’s “Wake Me Up Before You Go Go” because this time I knew the moves from Wii’s Just Dance 2. Instead, everyone was shaking their booties to Rye Rye’s “Boom Boom.” I think the dream was telling me to let the past go, or to download more current songs to my IPod.
I left the prom and returned to my childhood home. I changed, told my mother I was going out for a while, and asked when she wanted me home. She smiled sweetly and said, “Honey, what time do you think it should be?” I explained that I had given Sweet Pea a curfew of 2 a.m. on her prom night, and as my mother frowned at me, I promptly explained, “but she was home by 12:15!” My mother smiled again and said I could stay out until 2 a.m. “if I felt I really needed to.” Outside of the obvious Freudian analysis that I still seek my mother’s approval, I think this part of the dream was telling me that I should get to bed earlier.
I went outside and climbed into the car I had in high school, a 1980 Mustang. But instead of the original automatic transmission, it was now a stick-shift. This was easy to relate to current life since we just replaced the engine in Chief Money Maker’s truck. Or, it could be that I’m a resentful middle-aged soccer/baseball/softball mini-van driving mother that wishes she had a sports car.
As I drove away, I saw several guys I knew from high school hanging out at the end of my driveway—in little red wagons. I think, subconsciously, I was trying to determine at what age men actually mature. But just like we’ll never know how many men it takes to change a toilet paper roll—because it’s never been done—this too is a question that will most likely remain unanswered.
And here’s where things get weird. Suddenly, I was in Officer D.A.R.’s truck (the X & Y chromosome donor for Sweet Pea & The Eldest) but Chief Money Maker was driving. We have an ex-Marine friend that claims he can legally off someone and get away with it once due to military trauma. I think my subconscious was suggesting I take him up on that offer. Or maybe we should have stolen my ex’s truck instead of replacing Chief Money Maker’s engine. I’m not real sure.
I finally shouted that I wanted to go home—but I didn’t click my heels together three times—so somehow I ended up in a hotel room. The last thing I remember is that Chief Money Maker and Joey Tribbiani from Friends were asleep on the bed and I was sneaking a picture of them to post on Facebook. I don’t even want to venture to guess how that portion of the dream relates to the rest of the dream, or how it relates to my life at all. I just want Chief Money Maker to get out of the dream and leave me alone with Joey Tribbiani!
There’s an anonymous quote that says, “Be careful what you wear to bed at night, you never know who you’ll meet in your dreams.” Tonight, I’m wearing Sweet Pea’s prom shoes.
“How you doin?”