Dreams are weird things. They come from this strange land inside our brains where all the parts of our life swim together in one big pool. Work, social, family, and all the other parts of our lives mingle with one another without regard to the usual compartments we set up to keep these things separate. I tend not to tell people my dreams anymore because they tend to look at me like I have 3 heads or something. I do need to start writing them down though. They'd make some good inspiration for poetry. For example...last night's dream...
My grandma brings me something (what it is is a mystery) at work that I need to fax. She looks more elderly and fragile than usual. I help her walk to this big office center we don't really have at work, a really nice one with 2 fax machines. I am bummed because the repair man is working on the nice one and I have to use the older one. My grandma does not remember the number she needs to fax to, but for some reason one of my clients, a man with Autism, holds the key. While I am trying to get the number from him another client is talking, someone is paging over the intercom and another staff person is telling the client I'm getting the number from to be quiet so she can hear the page. I answer the page and it is another staff person freaking out. She says, "Is it true?" I ask, "Is what true?" She says there is a news report out about toxic shock syndrome and because of this new information our company is forbidding all staff persons from using tampons. I assure her it is a rumor and the dream ends.
Weird, huh?
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