Heavens to Mergatroid! I’m not kidding when I say I don’t pay much attention to dreams and get bored when people tell me theirs but, I’m sorry, my subconscious is obsessed!

Got a new take on the old ex-boss nightmare last night. In spite (or because) of receiving in the mail yesterday the W2s that I feared I’d have to chase down.

This time I’m in the office cleaning off my desk after all this time. Good thing, too, because I’ve left personal (though no private) photographs that I want. I suggest to Charles that “we” make a station for putting together presentation materials that everyone can access. I acknowledge that this may be a bit premature. I seem to get hatred from him (as in real life). The boss-boss comes in with his eyes have shut. I ask if he’s sick. He says he just got back from the opthamalogist. I say I’m still sick. That the doctor(s) just ran blood tests. It’s the same I’ve said to him at least a couple times before. This time it’s true. The ex-boss and friend come in. She has a bad new ’80s cut. Short. After that weird excited indiference that they’re adept at displaying, I say, “Oh, you must have had your baby!” realizing at the same time that my interest seems counteracted by the fact that I’ve never emailed or called to ask about it sooner. I don’t hear the answer and she turns away. I’m not sure if there was a miscarriage. I’m afraid to bring it up again. Obviously, the baby’s not with her. I don’t know what to do. And then the office space suddenly turns into a dark and garishly colored (purples, browns) spook circus, like something out of a Tim Burton claymation.
The fact and frequency of these dreams had me concerned. Yesterday I thought to look at it as all that stuff draining away, leaving my mind and body, washing through and out of me, and that was what I was watching. Hmmm…