cat named pig

A few weeks ago, I was sitting at the coffee shop, doing some work trying to solve the Important Problem of why my Twitter updates were no longer automatically updating my Facebook status, because people NEED to read my 140-character trivial thoughts yet I don’t want to type them TWICE, can you IMAGINE the inefficiency?, when I noticed the following message from a high school friend turned Facebook friend.

I normally hate hearing about other people’s dreams. (Sorry, that’s harsh, but it’s a personal pet peeve that goes hand in hand with not wanting to hear the details of the cold you’ve had or the annoying twinge in your ankle when it rains. I want to care, really, but I just don’t. Perhaps motherhood has sapped all my ability to empathize with minor aches and pains or feign interest in something someone else finds fascinating, because that’s all I do, all day long, when I’m with my kids. Or maybe it’s because motherhood has left me with an empty shell of an immune system and plenty of weird minor injuries — I am too busy nursing my own ailments to hear about yours, and I sleep too hard at night to even remember what dreams are. Whatever the reason, these stories typically make me cringe.)  This one, however, was awesome. Read on, and anyone who went to elementary school in the eighties is sure to appreciate the Oregon Trail references:

Hey Laura,

I had to write you this morning before I forget it all completely because YOU WERE IN MY DREAM LAST NIGHT! Strange in and of itself, I know, but just wait until you hear the details

The setting was at a private school – I’m not sure if it was [my college] or [his college] but I’m sure it was fancy-shmancy because there was a locker-room with plush dark green carpet and mahogany doors on the lockers with gold trim. Ridiculous right? There’s more.

In the dream I remember lots of people but two in particular: you (and your husband) and Anne*. I’m not sure why, but Mike (Anne’s husband) had died – and I’m not making this up – of dysentery (Oregon Trail style) along with Emily. I’m still not sure what she was doing in there

We were preparing for some sort of event and I recall that you were pregnant (VERY PREGNANT) with your third child. How’s that for a fertility omen? However, before we could have the event, the kitchen needed to be cleaned so you asked your husband to douse the wood floor with bleach and scrub it with one of those rubber-fingered squeegees.

That’s when my alarm tore me away from my slumber. I suppose I’ll never know quite how the dream was supposed to end but I woke up thinking “what the ef was that about!?!”

So, congrats on being a part of one of my top ten most ridiculous dreams. If you have the “what’s my dream mean” books, I think you should look some stuff up – Lord only knows what you’ll find

Hope you had a more lucid dream than I did last night!

~Adam

Once I got over my horror at the thought of being VERY PREGNANT with my third child (and just when I’ve gotten rid of all those baby clothes!) I particularly enjoyed the part where Matt is cleaning the kitchen floor. Only in my dreams, too, Adam.

…..

*Names have been changed (except the author’s) on the off chance that one of these high school friends might read this and be dismayed to learn that they died of dysentery.