Tuesday, October 21, 2008

Is there a therapist in the house?

I had the strangest dream last night.

I realize mid-sentence that I am talking to a group of people in a school hallway, and I'm dressed in a Catholic School uniform. I'm telling this group of people that because I should have graduated 20 years ago, but got my GED instead, I thought it would be a great idea for me to start as a Freshman with my son at his high school. I made sure we weren't going to share any of the same classes, and in my dream he seemed fine with the idea. Which is not how it would have gone down in real life.

I'm walking down hallways and up and down staircases, completely lost. It's not my son's school but my public high school. And no one else is in uniform, not even my son. I can't find my binder with my schedule that tells me what room I'm supposed to be in next. I find myself in a locker type room going through my locker frantically searching for my schedule. Just as I realize my backpack is not mine but my son's, the V.P. of the company I work for starts admonishing me for being late for class. I tell him that I don't know what class I'm supposed to be in, or where I'm supposed to go. He tells me I'm supposed to be in Algebra and that I should have planned better, been more prepared.

I go out into the empty hallways again trying to find my algebra class. Just as the bell rings and kids start pouring out of classrooms, I look down and realize I am completely naked from the waist up. Kids start pointing and laughing, whispering behind their hands, "hey, isn't that Mrs. Schmancy, J's mom?". I duck into the next doorway which I think is the girl's bathroom but ends up being the boy's locker room.

I hide in a stall until the next bell rings. Luckily, when searching my son's backpack I find one of his polo shirts, I'm bra-less but not longer topless. I decide I better go to the nurse's office and complain of female problems to get sent home before this day goes any more wrong.

When I get to the nurse's office, it seems to be set up as a flu-shot clinic for seniors. I ask for the nurse and the lady asks me if I'm here for a flu shot. I'm not that old, bitch. The nurse must have sent me home because the next thing I know I'm running across the lawn as fast as I can to get away from that place.

That's all I remember. Which is a lot because I never remember more than bits and pieces. This is wrong on so many levels. Am I envious of my son having such a good high school experience so far that I want to go back and change my own? Even though I am obviously an embarrassment? And old?

What the fuck?

8 comments:

kate said...

I'm not a therapist, but yeah, this is messed up. You clearly need a drink. Er, shrink. ;)

Me? I had a rockin' sex-dream about a former boss last night. So I'm right there with ya on the need for a therapist. If that makes you feel any better.

JD at I Do Things said...

That sounds like a dream I would have. My dreams are typically movie-length with subplots, character development, cliffhangers, and sometimes amazing dialogue.

JD at I Do Things

Dr Zibbs said...

Fancy, please post some pics. I'm picturing you covering up your goods but giving the expression of, "Whaaa? get that camera out of here" look.

Fancy Schmancy said...

kate, drink sounds better.

jd, you should blog about that. I dream so you don't have to.

zibbs, I'm worried about my mental health and all you care about is nekked boobies? I'll try to set up that photo shoot as soon as possible for you.

JoJo said...

Well I got a chuckle out of it if nothing else.....I actually found myself quite concerned about your running braless, and how much that had to hurt.....

Men and boobies. Oh brother.

Fancy Schmancy said...

jojo, braless is my favorite thing, in the privacy of my own home, but you're right. running that way = not good.

mysecondjournal said...

WOW... That dream came from some repressed pschosis of your inner fear of the devil.

Or you are a freak.

xoxo

...any of the boys try to get to second base?

Fancy Schmancy said...

MP, you may be right about the repressed psychosis, but I'm actually pretty upset with the devil. I don't remember that little piece of paper I signed having anything to do with the life I am currently living.