Sassy single mother, passionate difference maker, rubber chicken wrangler ...thriving in abandoned perfection and suburban madness.

If my subconscious is any indication, this school year needs to end — STAT!

Night before last, I had an initially disturbing dream, which with 24 hours perspective, has actually become laughable…and when something’s laughable, I usually share.

In the dream, I was in my office, but not my actual office — either one of them. I know, seems a bit odd to dream that I have yet ANOTHER office, two being quite enough already.

In this office, which had the feel of the bridge of a deep sea submarine, my desktop was piled high with unfinished projects, papers, books and office supplies. I remember feeling more and more overwhelmed and frustrated as I looked at my desk while other people were standing in my office just chit chatting about celebrity gossip and Pinterest. Yes, social media even invades my dreams.

Something brought me to my breaking point. Maybe it was the discussion of cake pops made in the shape of John Travolta’s head or perhaps it was the casual observation that we’re having marvelous weather. I don’t know. But the next thing I know, I’m having a full-blown temper tantrum complete with my right arm moving left to right across my desk and shoving every single blasted item to the floor.

There may have also been a guttural scream, hot angry tears, and a deranged look on my face.

The people in my office just turned to me, calmly, and suggested that I go to the library.  Um…okay. I just trashed my office and you want me to go where there are shelves and shelves of 19000+ books where I could conceivably do the same thing? Fine.

Then I’m in a library. Again, it’s “mine” but yet doesn’t match either of the libraries I manage in my daytime hours. As I enter the space, I see several middle aged women wearing nothing but black, gray and white lacy bras and underwear. And they were reading.

I’m a bit puzzled, but shrug my shoulders like “They must be having the same kind of nervous breakdown I am.”

So, at this point, I’ve trashed my office, wandered into a space full of middle aged lingerie models.

The dream morphed into a blogging conference on the beach. I was sitting in a beach chair, wearing a formal gown, next to a good friend from my real life . The Bloggess was speaking and my friend would not shut up. She just kept talking about the sand and her toes.

I remember looking at her and giving her the “eye” — as in SHUT UP — The Bloggess is speaking!

She looked at me like, “Who?”

And then I woke up.

After careful analysis of this dream (and I have zero dream analysis training), I can conclude the following:

I feel like I’m drowning at work.

And my subconscious thinks no one cares.

Multitudes of my middle aged female friends must be reading Fifty Shades of Grey.

And…

I desperately want to put my little pink toes into the ocean and spend the summer writing without distraction.

Sounds like summer can’t come fast enough for me?

Anyone else counting the hours?

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