I had a dream last night that I was teaching a class. It was some kind of summer school class because we were in a covered shelter with picnic tables. The students were in their late teens, possibly early-college age, and I had a male teaching assistant whose age I could not guess, but he was younger than me. And for some reason my mom was there, just sitting in a corner observing.
So I said, “Get out your books,” like I always do, and they were taking their time, like they always do. As I was going through the whole, “let’s talk about what we read yesterday” thing, I got something in my eye and couldn’t see.
Also, suddenly, I was topless.
“OK, who wants to read first today?” I asked.
No one volunteered. Frustrated, I shouted out, “OK, fine, I’ll stand up here naked and blind and I will read!”
Despite my threats, I ended up dismissing the class, having accomplished very little in terms of literary analysis. Then I did what naked, blind women in positions of power do all the time. I stormed up to my teaching assistant and started yelling at him. He grabbed me by the shoulders and said, “You need to chill out.”
I mean, that’s the edited version of what he said.
I woke up to Lionel Richie’s “Dancing on the Ceiling” playing on my clock radio.
I just think it’s interesting that an 80s pop song about cutting loose woke me up from a dream about someone telling me to stop being so uptight.
I don’t remember my dreams from the 80s, but I think it must have been easier to cut loose back then. Maybe that’s only because I was a kid. Plus, back then, there were no log-in servers to worry about. Your computer didn’t get hacked by some guy in India who lies and says his name is Raymond and he’s a “certified technician.”
“May I know what is the operating system you are using?”
Oh no, Raymond, you may not know. You may never know.
In the 80s, you went into your room and listened to cassette tapes. Alone. No one invaded your cyberspace. You didn’t know what everyone you ever met was doing at all times. You didn’t know when your middle school principal was vacationing in Venice. Lionel Richie was talking about dancing on the ceiling and Whitney Houston asked how she would know if he really loved her. (She said a prayer with every heartbeat.)
In creative writing last semester, I told the students to keep a journal of their dreams. People had a hard time with that assignment. Some said they didn’t remember dreams.
Well, it is hard, but it’s probably worth it if for no other purpose than self-analysis. Haven’t you ever wanted to tell someone about your dream and realized as you were describing it in vivid detail that they didn’t care?
But you should care, because dreams are all about the subconscious, and if you don’t see that somewhere between your subconscious and the waking universe there is a message you need to hear, then you’re not paying attention.
That is all.