Sweet Dreams

A few nights ago I received some bad news. My high school - the one I spent six years attending classes, learning, and undertaking exams - rang to tell me that they were very sorry, indeed so very sorry but there had been a mistake. It had taken a while for it to be confirmed, but it had come to their attention that I had not actually submitted all the coursework for one of my subjects. Technically, this meant I had not actually passed high school, and therefore my university degrees regrettably also needed to be revoked immediately.

​I had been processing this news the next evening, when suddenly one of my teeth fell out. I fumbled around the ground searching for it in surprise, and wouldn’t you know it, another one came loose. It was so strange. There was no blood, but where my adult teeth once sat, clear gaps in my mouth remained.
 
Something else odd happened to me recently. I was at a five-year-olds birthday party. The parents spared no expense, hosting the celebration at a pirate ship themed adventure park, where all the slides and ropes and planks were suspended above water. Most people were happy enough to swim around if they happened to fall off the plank, or lose grip on the rope for a moment. Conversely, I could not bring myself to enter the water for fear I would drown. I was completely stuck, gripping the sides of the slide watching all the other party guests swim to the poolside restaurant to cut the cake.

All this. All this after last week when I was asked by a lovely elderly lady whether I could drive her home in her car. She had called me over to her car as I walked home from work; she was feeling dizzy and couldn’t manage the small journey a few blocks away. I really wanted to help, so, ignoring the glaring warning sign in my head reminding me that I didn’t actually have a drivers license, and didn’t actually know how to drive a car, I hopped behind the wheel. Yes, we crashed.
 
Things clearly aren’t quite going according to plan. I’m failing. I’m losing body parts. I’m stuck. I can’t help people when they need me.
 
All this drama is making me tired.
 
I dream of having the ability to fly, to soar high above the ground. I dream of twisting in and around the clouds with the birds, having no immediate worries, fears or concerns to pull me back down to earth. My wings are strong, I can fly for hours with my feathered friends, oddly, one looks kind of like Luke Perry from his 90210 days. Anyhow, I rarely feel tired even when Luke and I fly over multiple countries and oceans.
 
I dream of wading through crystal clear water, the bathing suit I purchased at the airport on the way to this beautiful tropical beach fits me perfectly. As I wade, I’m avoiding the murky, muddy areas, where things fester and appear bigger and more dangerous than they actually are. Instead, I happily lay in the water, drinking piña coladas with the Disney version of Robin Hood, you know, the fox one. We talk about how much we would like to invest in the canvas bell tent industry. 
 
I dream of winning the meat raffle at the local pub, sitting at a table with all my nearest and dearest, The Beatles are doing a sound check on stage, ready for their set in a few minutes. For some reason, I have crab claws for hands, and the pub looks like my bedroom from 1992, but these trivial details don’t worry me, because I am content.

I know I can fly. I know I can be content. It is possible. Even with crab claws as hands.
 
Maybe I just need to get some sleep.