Come All Ye Women and Let me Interpret Your Dreams

I would like to propose something. 

Last time I made a proposal, it was to create a task force of women whose sole purpose it is to bring you a bra to the emergency room for those times you erroneously thought there “wasn’t time” when rushing your child there. Once you arrived, saw the piles of children in the waiting room, watched your own little one jump from chair to chair while squealing and tried to find a position to sit in (short of holding them) that didn’t make you feel, well, jiggly, you realized that you should have taken the time.  That’s when you call the “Bra Squad”. 

I’m still waiting for it to catch on.

Anyway, back to my current proposal.  This one has to do with dreams.

This morning, I woke up extremely anxious, mentally exhausted and sore.  Not sore like, my right arm hurts from Bunko...but all over sore.

I hobbled over to the Keurig (which is, by the way, the only member of my family I will talk to before 9AM) when it dawned on me.  I had had a really stressful dream. 

Now, women, let me interpret your dreams…yes all your dreams.  With the exception of the never-happens-enough fantasy dream where you have a run in with your favorite celebrity who, for some reason, looks more like a kid you used to ride the bus with, all your dreams mean one thing.  In one sentence, your dreams mean this, “you feel inadequate”.  It’s true. 

All of my dreams involve a situation or task that I just can’t control.  It’s usually something simple that in real life, I can actually do, but evil lives in dream world. It’s a place where even the simplest of tasks has an elevated and completely unrealistic level of complication preventing accomplishment.

It’s very frustrating…like a few of those Angry Birds levels.

Running from something?  Not so fast…literally

Screaming?  Never loud enough, it seems.

Trying to bake a cake?  Not with the infestation of ninja vampire spiders trying to bite your fingers off unless you successfully complete all the Macarena dance moves. 

Trying to talk to your husband? He’s not listening. 

Okay sometimes its realistic.

You wake up mentally exhausted, emotionally drained and you're trying to figure out why your left foot is inexplicably numb. 

You see, I don’t’ see why I have to delineate between dreams and things I physically did.  Why? Because they feel the same on my body. 

Maybe I should be doing more P90X. 

Last night I was trying to navigate a gypsy carnival to find my son while dodging the creepy little girl ghost who kept popping up in front of me.  It was way stressful.

PLUS, I FEEL LIKE I ACTUALLY DID THIS. 

So why am I at work this morning?

Okay, so here is my two-part proposal:

Proposal Part One:  Please put a drop down choice on my LiveStrong App under exercise that says, “Particularly Active Dream = 400 Calories (or) go ahead and get a chicken biscuit on the way to work”

Proposal Part Two: In addition to vacation days, sick days, short and long term disability, there needs to be some time off given to “dream recovery”. 

Yes, I feel like an elderly wimp requesting this.  Dreams used to be no big deal.  You could go to bed, spend the entire night ‘running in place’ from a gigantic helium balloon named “Bonecrusher” and still have enough energy to put on eyeshadow and jewelry.  Now, I have a dream about spilling a cup of coffee on my favorite chair and I wake up needing about six Advil (the multi-vitamin of choice for moms).

So all I’m asking are a few understanding conversations like the one below from places of employment:

“I can’t come in to work today.”

“Why?” <–----- in my hypothetical situation, you are allowed to ask probing questions that are typically shunned by HR professionals.

“My husband is cheating on me.”

“With who?” <–------ see, like here.

“Charlize Theron”

“Seriously?” <–------ and you can make judgmental one-word responses.

“Most definitely…except she looks like our pharmacist.  Anyway, I’m exhausted, emotionally drained and my left foot is numb…I’ll be in tomorrow.”

See, you don't have to Ferris Bueller your way to a sick day and everyone is happy!  Except your husband, who you are punishing with the silent treatment even though you are fully aware of the fact that it was a dream.