Took a nap this afternoon, and apparently the subconscious is in fine form, because it kicked out the first of what will doubtless be a crop of Moving Anxiety Dreams.
I hate moving dreams. I hate them like I hate no other dreams. I would far rather be pursued by an axe-wielding maniac in my sleep than have a moving dream. The only other dreams that hold such horror are the teeth-falling-out dream* and the starving-animals-in-cages dream.
(And yes, if you’re going “WAIT! I HAVE THOSE!” they aren’t uncommon, particularly in women, and every time I post about those more readers come out of the woodwork going “I thought I was the only one!” Nope. Something about this particular imagery is apparently rather deeply wired. Solidarity!)
The moving dreams have much less set imagery, but they make me crazy. It is a sign of how much I love Kevin that I am willing to do this, since I will now be having these for the next six months, possibly a year if it’s ugly.
Still, in between the struggle to pack and the wandering through a house with tenants who weren’t supposed to be there, there was an amusing moment. A realtor was taking me around to look at apartments, and suddenly I stopped and said “Wait. Why am I doing this?”
“Because you need an apartment,” she said patiently. “Your lease is coming up.”
“No…actually I don’t. I’m moving in with my boyfriend in two months. I don’t need a new apartment.”
The dream-realtor was pissed by this answer and drove off in a huff.
I recounted this dream to Kevin, who said “Even in your dreams, the realtors are having a bad year.”
It’s sad when the housing market is down even in Dream Country…
*A common anxiety dream somewhat blunted for me by the time I had a crown come loose–twice!–and had to cement it back in until I could get to the dentist, which experience seems to have mostly foiled the dream’s power.
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