TMI Tuesday – Dream a Little Dream…
Sorry it’s been a whole week! For a few days there, I decided hijacking Lacey’s blog was more fun than doing mine, I guess.
Okay, so here’s today’s exercise in Tessa Validation – Tell me about your weird dreams and nightmares. Because I seem to be under a wee bit of stress at the moment (which may or may not have to do with my book being out on submission), and it’s manifesting itself in some pretty gnarly dreams.
I’ve been having most of those standard under-stress dreams – showing up for the final exam after skipping class all semester, freaking out because I couldn’t remember who was taking care of my baby. But then some of them are just … incomprehensible.
For example, the other night, I had a dream that I ate Crazy Glue. Don’t ask me why I ate the Crazy Glue. But in my dream, I vividly remember making lines of it and licking them up. (And no – never in my life have I done lines of Crazy Glue or any other substance.) Then, about three seconds later, it hits me that this may not have been such a brilliant idea, to eat the Crazy Glue. I start feeling a bit sick. So I turn over the tube, and – wouldn’t you know it! – right there it says, “DO NOT INGEST.” Okay, so in my dream I’m trying to decide whether or not to go to the hospital. I read a little further on the tube, and under the ‘First Aid’ bit (you know, where it usually tells you to drink a glass of water, or make yourself vomit?) the tube tells me that my only hope of survival is to get kicked in the stomach repeatedly, so that the Crazy Glue does not congeal in my gut and obstruct my intestines.
So get this – I’m too embarrassed to ask someone else to kick me in the stomach – I mean, really, how would that conversation go? And, Dream Tessa is thinking to herself, I didn’t really eat THAT much Crazy Glue. Surely not enough to obstruct my intestines. So I go around for a couple of hours, drinking little swallows of water and every so often punching myself in the gut. Are you laughing hysterically yet?
If not, read on…
Because my own punches feel too feeble to have much impact, I attempt to recruit some passers-by and friends to join the gut-churning efforts, but as predicted, they just stare at me like the nutcase I am. Finally, I decide I really should just go to the Emergency Room. I do. I’m talking to a guy – receptionist or something – in the waiting area. At first, I’m quite hesitant to tell him why I’m there. I mean, how do I explain to him that I’ve spent my day licking up Crazy Glue and punching myself in the stomach without earning a one-way ticket to the looney bin? Well, as the minutes tick by I can feel my intestines knotting up, and I am increasingly certain that I must own up to this idiocy or die of it, and eventually I get some version of the story out. Hospital Dude says, “Oh, is that all? Nah, you’re not going to die. We had a girl here last week with the same thing. The docs suctioned her stomach, and she was fine.”
Relief washes over me. Not so much because I’ve been assured I won’t die. No, mostly because I’ve been assured I’m not the only Crazy-Glue-slurping idiot around. It’s a regular epidemic! Who knew? But then, Hospital Dude gives me the metaphorical kick to the gut. “No…wait… that was the girl who ate eight pounds of caramels. Crazy Glue, hmmm? Okay, you might be in real trouble.”
And then I woke up.
This has to be a metaphor for pursuing publication, right? I mean, what other pursuit has you punching yourself in the gut, then asking friends to hit you in the gut, only as a way to work up to letting other people – professional people – kick you in the gut? Or maybe I am just going insane…
So, feel free to play “Shrink Tessa’s Head” (or “Kick Tessa in the Gut”, for that matter) and tell me what this all means. And please, share some weird dreams of your own.