Tuesday, February 21, 2017

Ravioli Dreams

Full disclosure: I hauled this out of the draft bin because I thought it was funny. The baby referenced in the last paragraph is now two years old.

Dreams are funny. Many nights, I dream about high school. I'm not sure why this is the case. That time of my life certainly wasn't my favorite of all times. I met some nice kids. I met some not-nice kids. I went to a school in a small town with a small-town mentality. I had some great teachers and some not great teachers. The story isn't exciting, and so I will never write a book about it. No one would read it. (Oh wait. No one besides my friends are reading my books right now anyway, right?)

But why do I dream about people from high school? I'm in contact with pretty much one (yes one!) person from that wretched place, and I hear from a few more via Facebook, but I do not think about these people on a regular basis. So why do my dreams? Maybe, unbeknownst to me, I hold onto residual teen angst. And maybe, my subconscious is trying to work through all of that crap. Who knows? Again, not me.

So what was it this time? The last time I dreamed of high school I ended up viewing the family jewels of an old crush. This time, I served ravioli and sausage to an old friend who is due with a baby sometime this month. She wondered why I served so much (I cook for at least six people these days) and I wondered why she was planning on serving ravioli to a future five-week old baby ("I'll freeze some," she said. "Babies can eat ravioli at five weeks!")

No clue. No clue. And what's wrong with me?




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