Who hasn’t dreamed of being back in a classroom and finding oneself completely unprepared for a test? For years I had those kinds of dreams fairly often, but it had been a long time and I guess I thought I was finished with them. I guessed wrong.
Last night I dreamt that I was in a class for sports broadcasters and the final test consisted of doing the play-by-play for a major league baseball game. In the dream I watched my fellow students step up to the microphone, and with varying degrees of success, put their own special spin on the broadcast. I wasn’t worried even a little bit. Then it came my turn.
First. I lost the microphone. It was right there, and then, poof! Gone. I searched and searched, all while the instructor tapped his foot and looked pointedly at his watch. Finally I found it—under my shirt of all places. I plugged the mic in and began my broadcast, only now there weren’t baseball players on the field, there were chickens.
I looked helplessly at the instructor. He just said, “Banter and schtick!” Or maybe he said “banter and chick.”
So I launched into a weather report interspersed with a great many “ums” and “uhs.” The chickens were running about cackling and clucking as chickens do, and the instructor made a slashing motion across his throat. “Cut!”
I curled up on the baseball field in the fetal position and cried.
Now, it doesn’t take a genius (thank goodness) to interpret this dream. Having just launched my second book—and my first attempt at a romance novel—I’d had a failure dream. One could say my field of dreams was a massive cluck-up.
The book’s doing okay, though. I’m anxious about first reviews, but hopeful, too. Mainly I hope the chickens don’t come home to roost again tonight.
Peace, and sweet dreams, people.