Dreams, Rx Renewals & Back-rubs

I seldom remember dreams, but when I do, they’re doozies.

The Socialist and I had just moved into a new apartment. The earliest part of my dream I remember is walking about the new place after we’d unpacked everything and all had been put away. The place had the feel of an old house that had been divided up and rented by floors. The windows were tall and bright, and there were deep sills on them. There were no curtains or other window dressings. The floor was poorly maintained hardwood, with many rugs of different sizes positioned throughout the apartment. The furniture was unlike what we actually own, mostly made of wood and rather shabby looking. I don’t recall looking out any of the windows, but there were traffic sounds from outside as though we were in the city.

The Socialist and I had fought about something. I don’t remember what; there had been a reason, but the more I try to remember it the less I can recall. I remember leaving the bedroom angry just as dusk was falling, leaving The Socialist in bed. The apartment’s layout was like a maze, with rooms appended onto strange places with neither rhyme nor reason. I went out to the kitchen and sat on a wooden chair at a wooden table.

Then it was morning, and there was someone visiting. I was angry with The Socialist for inviting this person and not telling me they were coming. He protested that they’d had nowhere else to leave their cats. I walked from the kitchen directly into a sunken den area that was crowded with an overstuffed sofa laden down with pillows and afghans, musty chairs, filled bookshelves, knick-knacks and sundries. The lighting was poor, and even though there were many of those large tall windows in the room, they were dirty and did not admit much light. You could see clouds of dust motes swirling in the air. I became aware of a longhaired tabby cat scurrying for cover and knew it to be one of the cats that The Socialist’s friend had left with us. A black and white cat unlike either Cattitude or O’Beast was curled on the sofa, almost invisible among the pillows. (In real life, these two cats belong to the people living in the apartment next to us.) As I continued to look, more and more cats became apparent, perhaps a dozen in all. The floor was in motion with cats, and then they all moved off to the far side of the room. I looked down and a cougar was slinking past the back of the overstuffed sofa, purring. I looked at The Socialist and said, “He left that?” The Socialist looked as astounded and alarmed as I felt.

The Socialist was gone, looking for cat food to feed all the cats. I began to worry that he hadn’t returned, and set off with two women who I apparently knew in the dream as neighbors but aren’t actually familiar to me in real life. We were looking for The Socialist, and I walked up a grassy hill to a rocky out-cropping that overhung a ramshackle arcade of booths and shops. I walked into the arcade, and had to stoop low to fit. The people were round-faced and dressed as peasants from an agriculturally centered community. I walked through the arcade to the other side and exited, standing up straight again when I passed through the doorway back onto the grass. I remember being disappointed I couldn’t find any cat food.

I walked down a grassy, rocky slope to a highway. The Socialist was on the other side of the highway, and I waited on the shoulder. A car stopped to let me cross, so I began my way across the highway. Suddenly there were five vehicles bearing down on me. The first four were sedans, two abreast. They all swerved behind me to miss me. The fifth was a white utility van that spun out of control. I watched it come at me sideways, its side tool doors open and flapping. When it was about to hit me I closed my eyes.

Nothing happened. I turned to look behind me, and saw that the van had crashed and the driver flung free. He was lying on the gravely shoulder. I walked over to ask him if he was all right. He looked up at me and said, “I wonder if she felt any pain.” I realized with a chill that he was talking about me and that I was dead.

At that point, my alarm clock rang. I think I may have spontaneously awakened at that point anyway if the alarm clock hadn’t gone off though. The dream has left me uneasy all morning.

I swallowed my pride and rephoned in my prescription renewal request to my doctor’s office this morning. I’m still annoyed about yesterday when I bother to think about it, so I’m trying not to think about it until Monday, when I confront Dr. Liver.

Not all is unhappy or unsettling though. My new Prius is absolutely fantastic. As I get the hang of driving it, I continue to find ways to maximize efficiency. The current calculation for mileage on this tank of gas is now 48.5. I’d love to see if I couldn’t get that up over fifty, but since I’m not doing true city driving that is unlikely. I did find three Cheetos under the driver’s seat yesterday afternoon … somebody slipped up when they were cleaning the car to prepare it for pick-up I guess. Frankly, finding the Cheetos gave me a good chuckle. If that’s the worst thing I’m going to have to deal with on this car, then I figure I’m in good shape. The CD player gets installed Friday, so I’ll have to take The Socialist’s Geo into work that day.

By the way, I have no idea why I was angry with The Socialist in the beginning of the dream. That wonderful man gave me over half an hour’s worth of back-rub before I went to sleep last night. The man is a hero in my book at the moment.