I’m still here. . .
going to officially put the blog on hold until September. I can’t live with the guilt unless I make it
formal and I’m still writing the new book so, you know. It’s that whole two
sides of the brain thing. It’s one or
the other, so the blog must wait.
I just had to tell you
one thing before I take off for the rest of the summer. I had the dream last night.
Not the naked one.
The one where you
didn’t do your homework, or show up for class all year, and you suddenly decide
you should be a good student. I’m pretty sure I’ve blogged about this in the past as I have this dream pretty often.
Here’s what happened: I went to school on a bus where two boys winked at me and I’m sorry to
say I winked back (I was much closer to their age on the dream bus, and they were both very cute, so-). Once
off the bus I spent what felt like several hours trying to find a guidance counselor to tell me where my class was meeting. Along the way, I passed several
of my son’s teachers but none of them knew where I was supposed to be. Finally, after opening the door to a nail
salon, a nice male receptionist told me where to go and that I was a half hour late. He told me I had Mr. Peterson for math in the
Klein building and that I should hurry. I
ran to class only to discover that instead of desks, we had beds. I knew this would be bad for me as I was very
tired in this particular dream (probably because I was sleeping) and I’ve
never been one to concentrate fully when presented with the option of reclining.
Knowing this, despite the fact that I was unconscious, I sat up in my dream
school bed, while the other students slept soundly. I marveled at the fact
that I not only didn’t recognize Mr. Peterson, who I supposedly had all year,
nor any of the equations he was putting on the board. By the end of the class Mr. Peterson was the
check out lady at Chez Cheese. I asked
her why she allows her students to sleep in class and she laughed
hysterically at that. I threw my head back and laughed too. And then I asked her what sort of math she
was teaching us. Turns out I was taking Pre-Calculus. For the record, I never got anywhere near that
far in real life. Mrs. Cheese told me
that she would help me if I told her exactly what I didn’t understand.
whatever comes right after multiplication of double digits. I can’t do three.”
As bad student dreams
go, this was a fairly mild one, as there was no final exam, but it was also
unsettling, as my next encounter was with– and believe me, this is harder for
me to say than you could ever imagine– Lindsay Lohan. She was sitting in class with me and said
that she was upset because her best friend showed up and she wasn’t supposed to
try out for the same parts as Lindsay. I
don’t know what that means either, but I didn’t ask her any questions; I just
talked to her the whole time about why she needs to condition her hair which
was falling out in black clumps as we spoke. I know you think I’m making this
up to be funny but I promise you I’m too ashamed of this dream to try to be
funny. I’m a grown woman. Lindsay Lohan is a name I should never say. And she certainly shouldn’t be allowed to
show up in my dreams. The important lesson
here is that one should always go for extra help after school if one hasn’t
learned anything all year. I believe
that dream meant something. My book is
unfinished business and my dream proves that the only way to get it done will
be to learn the math I never knew.
I have to go back to
work now. I’ll be back in the fall,
hopefully with a finished book and no homework.