Pandemic Dreams Volume Seven
I started writing down these dreams months ago, shortly after the pandemic and “lockdowns” became a thing. I was pretty regular about it for awhile, but then either my interest or the dreams trickled off into apathy. These are from about 4 months ago, maybe June of 2020.
My older brother and I (we were kids again!) were with my dad, walking through the woods on our way to the deer blind. We were trying to be very quiet, lest we frighten away any deer already in the area. My dad was using quasi-military Hollywood hand gestures to guide us. His footsteps were quiet, but my brother and I just tromped through the grass and dry leaves like the kids we were. I wasn’t sure at first whether it was early morning or evening, although it must have been evening because I could see where I was going without a flashlight. If we were on our way to the deer blind in the morning it would be pitch dark.
Once we got to the blind, I was surprised at how spacious it was. In real life there was barely enough room for a bench covered in upholstery foam. In my dream there was ample space for a cot and several chairs, with plenty of freedom to move around. Rather than the real-world plywood, the walls were some kind of corrugated metal, and there was actual glass in the windows. It was a more permanent structure than anything I remember from real life. In one corner, of course, there was a plastic gallon milk jug for use in bathroom situations. That part was the same.
I spent most of the dream really needing to go but resisting the urge because I didn’t want to use the plastic jug. I hated using the plastic jug.
The blind was up off the ground—maybe twenty feet, which is especially high for a deer blind—and as I looked around I realized there was a second door that led down a short run of steps to a wall. Well, less of a wall and more of a walkway on top of a high fence. I suppose the idea was that one could go out there and walk the wall to try and find a better vantage point to hunt.
For an indeterminate period of time, my brother lounged comfortably on the cot, my dad got settled in a chair, and I paced uncomfortably trying not to need the pee jug.
It was my grandma’s house, on Wayside Drive. At least, it looked like her kitchen, down to the shades-of-green patterned linoluem floor. There was a slope to the floor, however, a much-too-severe slope that was obviously a problem with the foundation. Maybe a sinkhole.
“I guess I need to call somebody.”
Looking out the window into the back yard, there was litter from…Christmas? Easter? A lot of gift bags and wrappings needed to be cleaned up. All of the litter was giant, though. Oversized. For instance, the empty gift bags were the size of a riding lawnmower. I don’t know what kind of nightmare Tim Burton land I was in, but it looked like there had been some kind of party out there.
I was working at my desk, in a room full of desks with computers on them. Everyone was doing their job, whatever that was. The mail guy walked around and handed out the paychecks. I opened mine eagerly, and was greeted by an amount of twenty-five dollars and a note which said:
Consider this notice that this is your last day.
I immediately went to the boss and confronted him about it. I was informed I was fired for not doing my job very well. The other guy that does my job is also not doing his job well, but he’s cheaper and can still be trained. The boss couldn’t or wouldn’t explain why I wasn’t getting my full paycheck. This was not a good dream.
Previous entries in the Pandemic Dreams series: