Dreams are weird. And not real. But I hate it when one wakes me ups, my heart pounding because it seemed so real. Mine (I suppose like many others) usually coincide with something going on in my life. Most often they’ve revolved around my job. Many times they even combine in one dream people I’ve worked with in numerous places.
Like one recently in which someone had moved my workstation and replaced my plain generic work telephone with an ugly faded pink phone, the receiver which — no joke — had the head of a rubber duck on it. I was pissed. And I let the people around me know. The ones sitting closest to me thought I was acting a bit strange, and pretty much ignored me. So did my boss, who shrugged and walked away.
In my dream, this seemed to go on for an hour, my heart racing, the frustration building because I couldn’t get anyone to understand how important it was that my desk had been moved and all my stuff that went with it was gone. Rubber duckies are for the bathtub, I tried to tell them. Not for telephones. They still wouldn’t listen. I woke up from the dream, the situation unresolved.
Yes, I’m starting a new job Monday, so I suppose the dream could be about being nervous — the usual nerves that go with a new workplace, new co-workers. That’s normal, right?
As long as, when I walk into the office on Monday morning, there isn’t a pink rubber duckie phone sitting on my desk!