1. The one where I can’t walk

I’m trying to walk somewhere but my legs feel like globs of wet cement and I’m walking through thick mud. I can just barely slog along. I don’t know if I’m crushingly tired or stiff as hell or am suddenly 105 years old.

What it means: I’m trying to move my legs around but I am literally asleep so have no control over my extremities. Who knows what’s going on down there. Or, it’s a manifestation of a subconscious fear of aging and losing my physical abilities.

Why having had this one frequently is cruel: It has seeped into my consciousness enough that I worry I will try to walk and I will have that sluggish sensation. What if it happens tomorrow morning? Well, I don’t think it ever actually has. But maybe it has? Did I have a morning where I could hardly walk? It seems real, but it almost certainly isn’t, which is my brain just messing with me, and thanks for that. The fact that dreams, which are mere unconscious flickers, can muck about with your actual emotions, is deeply cruel. Also it illustrates the disturbingly infinitesimal line between sanity and insanity. Anyway let’s continue.

2. The one where I forgot about a class I was taking

I am in college and, uh-oh, I just remembered I was in one other class. I went to one or two sessions, and uh, it just slipped my mind. I think it was some kind of math. The kind where you can’t miss much time because you’ll fall behind, and, wow, I haven’t been there in months.

What it means: A reasonable fear, yes? This seems like a literal, reasonable thing that could happen, and it probably does sometimes. Someone registers for a bunch of classes then drops some but overlooks one. Or maybe even, they fall behind and elect not to bother showing up anymore. Hopefully you can coax your way into an Incomplete rather than straight up failure. But in dream logic, there is no next semester. I suddenly have to do piles of work that I don’t know how to do. I am certain all humans have dreamed about such a scenario one form or another.

Also I hate forgetting stuff. I am not even the kind of dude who tends to forget stuff. If I didn’t do it, it was almost definitely because I was too lazy or too busy or didn’t want to. Of course I do forget stuff sometimes and it drives me crazy. So of course I’m going to have a dream that needles around with that particular neurosis. Why it takes this particular form, well, who can say. I always enjoyed looking through the class schedule and organizing my calendar. Maybe it’s the most organized activity I can think of that always devolved into chaos once the semester got rolling.*

Why having had this one frequently is cruel: Another consciousness-seeper. OMG, did I miss a class? I haven’t been an undergrad for 18 years and have seen my transcripts numerous times. But…maybe I did? Did I sign up for one this spring for work and then forgot about it? Somewhere some instructor keeps seeing my name on his attendance roll and thinks, “I’m starting to wonder if he’s not coming back.” I think I’ve had this particular dream so many times I am getting some light anxiety just talking about it.

(*Though I can end this one on a positive note. In grad school I found myself enrolled in a class that I desperately hated from the start. We were going to being doing several irritating group projects and have lots of brutal open-ended academic discussions. As a bonus, the class was also attended by someone I’d briefly dated the previous year, which had been largely weird and awkward throughout its stunted duration. I had to get out. Then a miracle occurred: I realized I’d miscalculated how many credits I needed (I think I’d left out some internship credits or something). I didn’t even need the class! I was out. So, so out. I’m sure the instructor did not appreciate the dazzlingly happy attitude with which I informed her I would not be continuing in the course.)

3. The one where the lights don’t work

It’s totally dark. I go to switch the lights on, and nothing happens. It’s too dark to even find the bulb to change it. I back into another room and that switch doesn’t work either. I don’t know where I am and I’m trapped.

What it means: Probably fear of death. Or more to the point, dying. Or maybe just the dark? They are all fine answers. It’s a topic of anxiety neither unique nor interesting since it is shared by probably all diurnal Earth creatures that have existed over the last 500 million years.

Why having had this one frequently is cruel: Because it’s scary as hell, and it’s super frustrating! Bloody lights.

So I was mowing my lawn, sweating profusely in the humid, 90-degree south that I for some reason decided to buy a house and mow a lawn in, when I realized I was surrounded by swarming, angry insects.

Two weeks previous, I had endured a moderately painful horsefly bite whilst performing the same chore and was therefore alerted to the possibility of having it happen again.  I assumed the insects at hand were indeed horseflies and I futilely attempted swatting them away.  Then I noticed there were lots of them and they had found my exposed calf flesh and were attacking.  With zeal.  Two got me on the legs at the same time and I probably either cursed in a very manly bear-like way or squealed like a sad kitten, not certain in the haze of combat, but I retreated into the safety of the house.

Underground wasp nest

This is where wasps emerge to sting me when provoked by the lawnmower.

But safe it was not!  I heard them buzzing around me still and I managed to swat one down with my hat.  Examining the corpse I realized I was not battling horseflies, but wasps!  Wait, was I getting stung instead of bitten?  Youch! Another right in the gut.  I got my shirt off and found another ambling around my chest, ostensibly patrolling for tender nexuses of nerves in which to inflict more damage.  I got this one off and found another in my hat before the furious swatting and cursing and stinging battle was ended.   Three casualties on the wasp side, three stings for me.  All throbbing and making me not happy.

What happened?  What had I done to deserve this attack?  After a spell of whining to the sympathetic K, I headed back to the scene of my ambush, coated with insect repellent and armed with a can of wasp killer.  I could find no hives or nests.  Were these just rogue yellowjackets looking for some thrills?  I finished mowing the lawn in fear and anger, keeping the wasp poison in one ready hand.

Eventually I noticed a small hole in the ground buzzing with more wasps.  I had been wondering about these.  I’d seen a few of them in the yard before.  They look like some innocuous hole in the yard. I’d gone right over it with the mower.  No wonder they were angry.  Although I don’t see why I should have been blamed instead of the actual mower.  I guess wasps know to ignore machines in favor of their insidious masters.

Anyway, into this hole I emptied most of a bottle of chemical wasp death.

Before this incident I had been stung by bees, wasps, or hornets I think twice ever.  Now I had three just in this one shot.  Thank you, nature!