all in a day’s woik

Last night, I had a long dream involving work and the justice system, and it all centered around the kid I had a major crush on in high school. Let’s visit that dream, shall we?

It is night time, and very dark outside. My boss is putting up some holiday decorations (all the holidays) around the office to cheer things up. Somehow, the office is both inside and outside, with the outside part looking something like a zoo parking lot with a very tall bar in one of the parking spaces. It was something of a judge’s bench. As I approach the bench, I realize that the person behind it is none other than the boy I had a crush on in high school, wearing an M&M costume. We start chatting, and he asks me what I’m up to these days. I tell him that I’m married, that I have a job I only like a little bit, that I live in Manchester. He tells me that he’s just broken up with his girlfriend, he has no home, and he has to take care of his little girl, just born recently. I peek behind the bar to see a baby, wrapped in blankets, dirty and crying. He asks, “Do you have kids?”

I respond, “NOOOOOO. No. I don’t. No thanks.”

He casts his glance away from me, mumbles some kind of regret about asking me about my life, and scuttles away to do his work as a giant M&M.

Later, when I return to that part of the parking lot, I walk by his car and notice that the doors are unlocked (I’m not sure how I noticed this). I decide to do him a favor by locking them, so I open the driver’s side door to click the lock. As soon as I do this, my boss is behind me, squawking about how inappropriate it is that we have someone living in their car in our parking lot. “It’s against the LAW!” she keeps saying, over and over again. Crush pops his head up from the back seat, obviously befuddled.

“You can’t just kick him out! He’s homeless, he has no place to go. What will he do?” I retaliate, in an awful, whining way. I recognize that some part of me feels bad about the comment I made about kids earlier.

“I’m taking him to court, and the judge can decide,” says Boss, smiling a wicked grin.

Suddenly we’re in a courthouse, and Crush, Boss, and my mother are there. There is no trial, simply a decision handed down from the judge–he has to move his car, and he can’t sleep in it any more. Crush simply hangs his head a little lower, but I am outraged. I approach my mother and my boss, both of them smiling primly in their crisp, freshly-pressed skirt-suits. “I’m not sure I’ll ever be able to talk to either of you again,” I say, firmly. They share a glance and begin to cackle. “Get back to work,” directs Boss, toward me and Crush. I look over to Crush, who is putting his M&M mask/hat back on. I start to tell him how sorry I am, but he smiles and moves on. He’ll figure something out, he tells me. I am devastated.

DREAM SHIFT

I am walking through a large white room, very bright and spacious, filled with well-dressed young women. As I walk around a bit more I see that there are two very long thin parallel tables that extend the length of the room, and each table is set up with a sewing machine every few feet. Everything is white, including the tables and machines. Jen comes around the corner in a very fancy, and very pretty, gray pencil skirt with a silk berry-colored ruffled top–she looks amazing and she’s designed the clothing herself. She hugs me, and tells me she’s so happy that I’m there. I’m also happy to be there, and look around the room once more; I see Jen’s mom standing proudly a few feet away. A moment later, Jen is called over to the front of the room, because there is an announcement: Jen has just won an award for her fashion designs! Jen runs toward me and jumps in excitement, but in mid-jump she falls and takes me down with her. As we laugh and scramble to stand up, I catch a glance in the mirror, noticing that I’m wearing a plaid school uniform, and my face and body look about 11 years old. This strikes me as very lucky, for some reason, and I take leave of the excitement in the design room.

The next room over is a classroom where they are watching a film strip and taking notes. I walk in and take my place in the middle of the aisle. A  girl leans over to try and cheat off my notes, but the teacher (Ms. Dickson, of high school) will have none of it, and reprimands the girl for cheating.

I sit with my back very straight, looking at my reflection every so often, marvelling at my ability to cheat time and death.