It must be a slow sports day when Sportscenter leads with a soccer story, recycles a two-week old feature about Drew Brees' pregame antics (which I can't believe I can't find), and comes up with a bullshit excuse for a "Top 10."
Even though it's a slow sports day, I still want to write a blog, so I'm going to write about a dream I had the other morning.
The dream happened Monday morning and was interrupted by my alarm clock. (It's a clock radio.) I very rarely remember any of my dreams, so when I do wake up mid-dream, I usually spend my first ten to fifteen waking moments recreating and cementing the dream's details, like apples in fruitcake. I'd guess this process occasionally leads to some half-truths and embellishments, but at any rate, here's how I remember the dream:
I was holding individual student conferences, which I did just last week in my waking hours. Essentially, I meet with each of my students – usually in my office – on a brief but individual basis in lieu of teaching class for a couple of days.
But, instead of being in my office or anywhere on campus, for that matter, the conferences were taking place in my childhood bedroom in my mother's house. I was even in my childhood bunk beds, though I didn't notice if they were rocking my Ninja Turtle sheets.
Here's a few other details I remember about the dream:
- My mom was there and would pop her head in to announce students on occasion.
- I was using a cell phone with Blue Tooth as another means to announce students' presence. But it wasn't my phone because it was a flip phone and mine's a slider. I've also never worn a Blue Tooth earpiece in my life except, now, in my dreams.
- It took place over two separate days. I distinctly remember having some conferences, then going to sleep, and waking up for some other conferences. For this practice, the bed was particularly convenient. Waking up in dreams is curious, at least, and is often used in sci-fi movies, etc. to symbolize our own tenuous relations with reality. (We can blame Descartes for that, as well as for superscript.)
I awoke "for reals" fairly quickly after waking in the dream, but I did have time for one conference on the morning of the second day, which is, of course, the one conference I remember the most.
This particular conference was with Slimer – from Ghostbusters. I know it was Slimer because he called me before coming to my room, and the Ghostbusters logo popped up on "my" phone under his name.
But, when Slimer got to my room, he wasn't Slimer. He was just a really big dude dressed in all-white with a white Batman-ears mask on – not the whole mask, just the ears. But this guy obviously thought he was Slimer because he kept trying to walk through walls. In fact, when the dream ended, he was just bouncing around in my doorjamb like some sort of video game character who found the outer edges of the programmed game world.
And then I woke up.
I think every good dream story starts out kind of normal, then gets progressively weirder, and finally ends with "and then I woke up."
I suppose they could also end with a trip to a psychologist.
I'm guessing a Freudian psychoanalysis – though those hardly exist anymore – would probably explain this dream as an oedipal representation of my fear of inadequacy as a teacher, especially considering my mom, herself a teacher, was there but only fleetingly, and I was, for lack of a better term, trapped in my childhood, since I couldn't leave my bed.
Or a Lacanian psychoanalysis – which might be slightly more in vogue – would probably say that the dream represents my desire to forego my responsibilities as a teacher in order to return to some sort of childlike fantasy world, where ghosts dress up like Batman, but neither they nor, again, my mother can actually be reached, since neither can get through my doorway.
I'm not particularly keen on overwrought dream analysis, particularly considering they can be interpreted in any number of ways. I prefer to simply blame the dream on what was on my mind at the time:
- My student conferences because they just happened last week.
- My childhood room because I'd just stayed there last weekend, after which I brought home my fish tank, which shared that room with my bunk beds for years.
- My crappy slider cell phone because it keeps buying things from my pocket since the keypad lock works like a high school curfew.
- And a poorly rendered Slimer because I'd spent Sunday morning watching a large portion of Michel Gondry's Be Kind Rewind, in which rapper-turned-actor Mos Def dresses in a makeshift Slimer costume to stage an amateur re-filming of Ghostbusters.
Quote of the Week:
"Sometimes a cigar is just a cigar."
This quote is often attributed to Freud, though there's a lot of debate – at least on the interwebs – as to whether he actually ever said it.