MARCH 22, 2020 – When my wife is under stress, she can’t sleep. She gets out of bed, goes downstairs, turns on lots of lights and . . . organizes stuff. When I’m under stress, I dream dreams that mirror the stress.
Among my dreams the night before last was a direct hit. I was holed up in my office, worried about a business client’s problem. I needed to make some progress in devising a solution but needed more information. We talked by phone and suggested a lunch meeting with the three principals of my client company. They readily agreed. Right after the call, however, I thought the better of it. “A face-to-face meeting over lunch in a restaurant?!” I said aloud to myself. “What was I thinking!”
Just then the door to my office popped open and a food cart rolled in all by itself. On the top shelf was a large salad bowl filled with cole slaw and covered with cellophane. On the bottom shelf were platters of meats and cheeses, also covered with cellophane. But how do I know any of this food is safe? I thought.
The door having been left ajar by the food cart, I stepped outside my office. To my amazement, the entire rest of the floor had been vacated. Desks, tables, chairs, cabinets, office partitions—absolutely everything except the carpet, had vanished. A couple of people remained behind . . . picking a few stray paperclips off the faded blue carpet, which, it seemed, had long been in need of cleaning.
Exposed on a wall was a row of doors for trash and recycling chutes. On one someone had taped a sheet of paper listing the permitted items that could be tossed down that particular shoot. The sign had been hastily prepared with magic markers of varying size. Dominating in large, thick, lettering were the words, “HOME GROWN GREEN BEANS.” This made me wonder—in the midst of the dream—how could we add to our (actual) meagre stash of dried beans?
Last night’s dreams were all over the map, but in the most symbolic one, I was driving down the usual route from downtown Minneapolis to our house. The time was past nightfall, and I was anxious to get home as quickly as possible. Suddenly, I encountered a massive construction project. The entire roadway, both directions, and all cross streets were torn up. Construction crews and equipment were everywhere. Traffic was light, but the car in front of me was putzing along much more slowly than was necessary. When the driver finally signaled a turn, I stepped on the gas to get around him.
Ever more anxious to get home, I roared down the narrow lane until I reached the next vehicle—a beat-up, faded green, nicked-up, pick-up truck, which was tailgating a big, lurching, grinding, cement truck of the same color and in the same condition as the pick-up. When the cement truck stopped suddenly, the pick-up smacked into the rear end of the bigger truck. I drove around . . .
. . . And woke up.
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© 2020 by Eric Nilsson
