And in my dream I was running … in my underwear …

I’ve been having a lot of weird dreams lately. A week or so ago, for example, I had a dream in which I was running a marathon while wearing a hooded warm up jacket and underwear. I posted the dream on my Facebook status and my friends had much to say about being in public in underwear. But they missed the major point of the dream: I was running!

A few days later I dreamt someone tried to steal my car when I left the engine running to go into the house to get something I’d forgotten. I was in my underwear and a nightshirt.

But last night’s dream was even more strange. I dreamt that I was in the lobby of a hotel and was checking on some flight arrangments when the desk clerk said that I’d need to hand over all of my identification. He assured me I’d get it all back when I reached my destination, but he wanted my license, my passport, any credit cards, anything with my name on it.

I kept trying to explain that I needed at least one form of ID to get on the plane, and after a prolonged back and forth, convinced him to give me my license. Then I went back to the hotel room only to find that my husband had already packed up all of his belongings and was nowhere to be found.

At that moment, I heard an announcement that the last bus for the airport was leaving right then and I had to quickly grab as much of my stuff, shove it into a suitcase and run to catch the bus. All the while I was saying, “Where is my husband?”

At the airport, I was told that the plane was about to depart and that I was too late. I kept trying to explain to the flight attendant that they took my ID at the hotel and that I couldn’t find my husband, when all of the sudden my husband, who was apparently on the plane, leaned out and yelled, “That’s what you get for being late.”

I told my husband about the dream, and he felt terrible that in my dream he’d been so mean to me. But he also said that a psychiatrist would  have a field day with it. I think it says something about the feelings I have lately about vulnerability? Fear of being abandoned? Or maybe that I just need to stop eating before I go to bed? The good news, of course, is that I was fully dressed. That’s progress, right?

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