Thought processing makes for a curious bedfellow

My little brain is obviously trying to process some stuff. I’m not sure how far it got but it took me through a peculiar story in the process. I know that some people hate reading about other people’s dreams, so I’m warning you right now, this is literally about a dream.

I was a fresher at university and quite a few people I knew were also (even though they are quite different ages but alas). The highlight of the week was a giant student sleepover where we were all invited to the university library where we, dressed on our jimmiejams could set out our duvets and grab a beer and get stuck into the afterdark campus treasure hunt quiz. So I was pretty excited about that cos it sounds pretty awesome to me. My mum was driving us there and we went to pick up some of the others from their house. When we arrived, everyone else (not me) was wearing their nightwear. I entered the bedroom of an unknown bloke and threw out the stuff in my bags and to my horror, I did not have my pj’s! Nor did I have spare socks and underwear. All I seemed to have packed was a ton of jewellery, many evening dresses and pairs of heels. I thought through the presentable nightwear I own and struggled to think up a newish, clean, moderately cute or attractive get-up. I then suddenly remembered about my horrible night sweating problem and freaked out about getting all sweaty, gross and stinky in a room full of people I was desperate to impress. I’d have to wear short pj’s but my knees were covered in scabs and my legs needed shaving. I figured mum could take me home together PJs quickly so took a deep breath and repacked my nonsense. Of course we were already running late and there was a deadline for arrival. When I came out into the kitchen I found that teams for the quiz/hunt had been set out and I had been mentioned only by my email address, not name like everyone else, and singled out as an outsider to their group. At this point I threw my toys out of the pram and told them I wasn’t going – and gave no explanation. They trundled off happily to the library, leaving me alone and unsure how to get home. I trudged across some field, reasonably sure I was heading the right way and I caught myself regretting having a tantrum and not asking about the team stuff. I then thought maybe I WOULD turn up at the library anyway, even if I was late and even if I didn’t stay all night…and then more thoughts….ohmygod I don’t have any meds with me, no floss, no cetaphil, no toothbrush, no adapalene, NO DEODORANT for god’s sake! I was going to be a hideous acneridden stinkfest of a beast, and now my nose was running uncontrollably. I had to find my way home but I ended up in the middle of the hunt. I sat, nose dripping, and watched a couple of stages while the teams pondered the clues, tried to make sense so they could move on to the next, and I knew the answers but it was too late. I’d chosen my bed and it was cold.

In case you were wondering, I didn’t dream about Cecil and I think a fox kindly cleaned up the murder scene last night.

“Between the road and the waters edge
An acolyte of disorder
Then you’re burning my dreams of Nothing”~Idlewild, dreams of nothing


3 thoughts on “Thought processing makes for a curious bedfellow

  1. What a frustrating and complicated dream. Instead of being in front of the class naked, you only packed an evening dress and jewelry! Your subconscious must be very classy. And the saga of Cecil continues.

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