Hey there, time traveller!
This article was published 10/12/2013 (871 days ago), so information in it may no longer be current.
Though I’ve been fortunate and lived a good life, I have had my share of rotten experiences, which often come back to haunt me in my dreams.
I vaguely remember as a child crawling through an outside door into the dark spider-webbed, musty crawl space under our house. As a prank, one of the other kids closed and locked the door behind me sending me into hysterics.
Since then I have had great fear of enclosed spaces. In one of my recurring dreams I have to crawl into and through a very long and tight tube to get across a river I don’t want to do it but I have to get across and it’s the only way.
Along the same vein I’ve moved into a new apartment block and to get in and out and to other apartments I have to crawl through a lengthy and very confining series of tunnels. In both cases I never quite get into the confining space but the suffering comes from the knowing I have to do it.
I have a fear of heights that probably stems from when, as a child, I fell from a barn loft onto my head. I dream of being high over the city on a rickety plank on a windy day. The building is under construction and the plank, suspended by ropes at each end, is swinging wildly back and forth. I don’t know how I got there and I don’t know how I’m going to get down.
In another dream I’m speeding down a busy highway in a whiteout with no place to pull over. My windshield is covered with ice and snow and the wipers aren’t working.
Though I can’t see it I know there’s traffic ahead of me as well as behind and I can’t see enough to pull over. I have to keep going knowing it’s only a matter of seconds before I crash into something.
In other dreams related to years in sales my guilty conscience kicks in. It’s Friday, I’ve been on the road all week and I’m on my way to our office. I have made no sales and will have to face an angry manager.
In other sales related dreams. I’m in a strange city and can’t find my rental car. I wander the streets looking for it, knowing that in a couple of hours I should be catching a flight back home. Sometimes I don’t remember the name of my hotel or its location.
Lastly I dream of being alone at a function at which there are many gorgeous, pleasant, and interesting single women.
I’m lonely and try desperately strike up a conversation but they ignore me and carry on as though I do not exist.
And that is probably the rottenest dream of all.
Ron Buffie is a community correspondent for Transcona.