Since I started at the Daily Globe, I’ve had a few dreams about work.
Here’s one of the crazier ones. I was sitting at my desk, working on a City Council article. On this Monday night, council ran very late, so I only had about 15 minutes to finish the story before the deadline.
I was already in a hurry, but things got much more stressful when laser beams materialized out of my desk plant and computer, forcing me to duck out of the way to avoid getting vaporized.
At this time of the night, my colleagues in sports were furiously working to meet the deadline as well. So I turned to my right to get some recognition from my colleagues about the laser beam that almost took my head off.
Instead, I see they’re also dealing with laser beam trouble. But they aren’t nearly as worried about it. In fact, they seem to be professionals at dodging laser beams.
They were bending their necks in impossible ways, while leaning back and forward in their desk chairs, like if Neo from “The Matrix” went back to his desk job.
The craziest part was just how casually they were doing it. They kept their eyes on the screen and their fingers on the keyboard the entire time, without losing focus of their assignments.
That’s pretty much the end. That’s probably the point where I realized this is a really silly dream.
I also get the recurring anxiety dream, which usually reflects an unresolved conflict in one’s life.
In my case, it’s a dream I picked up in college in which I forget to attend a class for an entire semester. I still get this dream frequently, and it still fools me every single time.
The class was some kind of history course that I needed as a general education requirement. Basically, it wasn’t a big priority, so apparently I forgot about it after attending the inaugural class.
On the last day of classes, I’m hanging out in our dorm suite when one of my roommates tells me, “Karl, have you even gone to that history class?” while laughing about it, as if he already knows the answer to his question.
Every time, I enter a state of panic. I hurry out of our dorm building and run to the class (which happens to be going on at that moment) and every time I get there, I’m significantly late. As I walk through the door, everyone stares at me with a puzzled look, but a few strangers seem to recognize me from the first class all the way back at the start of the semester.
The teacher doesn’t. “Who are you?” she asks, without a hint of irony. It’s really been that long since I’ve been in class that she honestly has no idea.
But then she remembers, after looking at her attendance sheet. College professors typically don’t have attendance sheets, by the way. If you don’t go to class, that’s your loss.
“EEE-vers … Hail … storm?” she asks, invoking memories of my elementary school teachers who could never pronounce my last name.
“No, EH-vers-Hill-STRUM,” I say, sounding it out for her.
“That’s what I said.”
OK, so things aren‘t going well so far. This mission was never going to be a success anyway, but I wasn’t making a good second-first impression.
Then, as if to save me from this awkward experience, the dream crosses the finish line.
It’s unfortunate that it ends on a cliffhanger, but what was I actually expecting to happen?
Was she going to not fail me? Seems unlikely.