I had a dream. The dream was along the lines of Mary Shelly’s Frankenstein, a nightmare.
The dream began harmless enough. A bookstore held a book signing for a favorite author.
While standing in line, someone mentioned that I was also a writer.
What were the chances that one of my fourteen blog followers stood in line behind me and actually recognized me? The person with the big mouth was probably a family member, but their identity wasn’t clear in the dream
The author asked to see my work. I pulled pages from who knows where and handed them over. The writer scanned the pages and said, “Maybe you should consider doing something else. Next.”
The writer’s boyfriend was aghast and argued with the writer. I heard “heartless” as I headed to the exit.
It took less than three minutes to be pulverized. I went home and laid down in my backyard.
“What are you doing?” The hubby asked from the screen door.
“I’m waiting for the skunks to come out to devour me.” I said.
“There’s someone here to talk to you.” He said.
“No thanks. I’ll just wait here for the skunks.” I said.
I knew the famous writer didn’t want to apologize for crushing me. The writer’s boyfriend insisted on the apology. The writer wanted to be anywhere else, but in the kitchen with my husband and dog. The writer wasn’t a dog person.
In the backyard, my head faced downhill. I hoped to pass out before the skunks feasted. Then I woke up.
While driving the next day, I noticed multiple dead skunks along the roadways. Was it possible to subliminally kill skunks in a dream-like, psychological massacre?
Sigmund Freud thought dreams were the door to the unconscious. Carl Jung believed dreams attempted to communicate important things to the dreamer. A dream where you were chased might mean you were unable to meet a challenge. Nightmares could be tied to stress and anxiety while awake. What the hell kind of stress triggered a voluntary self-sacrifice to a backyard full of skunks dream?
Why skunks? Wouldn’t wolves do the job faster? Or a grizzly bear? They eat people. Maybe my unconscious mind was practical and knew that neither of these species roamed my suburb. Why not coyotes then? Coyotes are adaptable and were heard howling in the neighborhood at night.
Skunks eat mostly insects, but will consume eggs and small animals. Why not feast on a sizable slab of meat if given the opportunity especially when the slab of meat made itself a voluntary sacrifice to the skunk kingdom?
Dreams weren’t usually an exact representation of your life. A favorite author could be a stand in for a critic or a boss. I never fretted when someone pointed out that red high-top sneakers clashed with a wedding dress. Being my own boss, I had a hard time believing that I’d be so self-criticizing as to commit hari-kari with skunks.
Books on dream analysis raised more questions. Did something in my life stink? Why didn’t I have normal dreams of flying, falling, or being naked? Did I fear failure?
One book pointed out that fear of failure may be a premonition of the liberated state. I almost wished I’d stuck with the dream to see if the skunks liberated my spirit in some way.
Another book suggested that skunks came to warn us of danger. Maybe our reality wasn’t as secure as we thought. No kidding. Dreams about being beaten down and consumed by semi-cute, smelly critters reeked of an insecure reality.
A few books suggested speaking with an expert. Professional therapists required a copay. I was good with self-analysis. Behavioral therapy could also help people who suffered from nightmares. Again, I’m good. In my dream massacre, I took out most of the skunks in the surrounding area.
My take on the dream: My favorite writer/critic/failure complex could represent opinions of which I’d soon become free from after some sort of sacrifice. (Hopefully, not bodily consumption by skunks or worse, snails.) Maybe the dream simply meant that hasty judgments stink like skunks.