Candace, 04 September 2007, No comments
Categories: Life

I had a dream this morning. Getting ready for camping — enthusiast style: pack it in, pack it out. Bringing only a small pack, the rusty orange one I got for my daughter when she was about five, the one with the spot for a water botttle. Clean underwear, bug spray, mosquito netting. A rectangular woven basket in my arms with some other things that would be divided into the packs of the small group of us going, the one that I filled this weekend with towels and raincoats from my house, packing to move.

Grabbing my cell phone as I run out the door, giving instructions to my parents about childcare, how to reach me, rushing out the door so I don’t miss my ride.

Waiting in front of a house (some house, none I’ve lived in) by a no-parking sign — waiting and waiting. No ride. Knocking on the neighbours’ house to see if one of the group is still there, finding out that Patrick (in 1993 we did bad children’s theatre together in Toronto) — and everyone else, left hours ago. The group was long gone. They’d given me a false departure time, completely intending to leave before daylight. I was devastated. Crushed. But then not surprised, like this had happened before, with other people, in other circumstances, and would probably happen again.


I forgot to say the reason why I blogged this at all. When I woke up I felt totally sabotaged by my dreaming self. I wondered if my dream knew all along that the group was planning to ditch me, and if so, why would it do such a thing? Rob, the ever optimist, suggested that maybe the mind just watches the pictures as they appear, and interprets them as we go along.


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