(no subject)
Early this morning I had a nightmare.
In this dream my office, in reality a townhouse sitting shoulder-to-shoulder with other townhouses on a busy street, had somehow acquired property. On the property there were dogs. How nice, my dream self thought, as in the course of my clerical duties I walked along the dirt drive.* Then I saw Ava. She was wet and bedraggled. Her tail was tucked between her legs and she was holding one forepaw up close to her chest. One of her back legs was practically shredded; the other dogs had hurt her. She looked at me, miserably, and I picked her up -- she was lighter than I expected, and didn't struggle -- and ran to the office to tell the Major that there was an emergency and I needed to leave.
He looked at us. Clients were coming in for a deposition or some other important business. "I don't see any emergency."
It didn't occur to me in this dream to rebel, to walk out anyway and take care of my dog. I put her in a room with another dog, a small mop-looking thing, where I hoped she'd be safe, noticing as I did so that her belly was terribly chewed-up and bloody. I went out to kill time until 5:00. There were things to do, and lots of people coming in and out, and my clothes kept disappearing. As soon as I had to deal with someone I'd have to go looking for a bra again, or a top, or just go in with my arms folded to give a message, and the whole time all I could think about was my dog bleeding and whining softly in that room.
Dream logic is twisted. Part of my time-killing strategy was to get in my car and drive a block or two, sick over my dog. I saw a parking lot ahead and pulled in to turn around, but the exit sent me in another direction. From there on it was a true nightmare as I drove block after block and became ever more lost. As soon as I had steered the car into a lane clearly marked with arrows, the arrows would reverse. The steering got sluggish. Ball joint? I glanced at the clock: 4:57. I had to get back to Ava! I was on a freeway now, with multiple lanes, and up ahead there was water in the lanes; was it passable? Other cars were going through. Bridges ahead, and boats. No, there was no bridge. The bridge was gone. The car shot off the end of the freeway into open space. Even the road noise ceased -- how's that for detail?
Gravity. I had time to realize with horror that it ends just this insensibly, here and now, and there was no escaping. I wondered if the impact would hurt. It didn't, but now I would drown, and so I drew a deep breath and waited.
That's when I woke up. And listened very hard for the sound of dog tags jingling from the crates in the living room.
So. Right now, Ava is curled up on the love seat where she technically is not allowed to be, having made herself a little nest of the plush throw. She is full of broth-soaked kibble since we're moving in three days and I had to do something with that chicken broth. She's also had a number of cookies, because while I'm usually not a compulsive treater, every time I look at her today I remember that too-real image of her bowed and shivering by the side of a dirt road and I just. Can't.
I quit my job last week. Unsurprisingly, I didn't quit until I simply could not take another minute. I can't drive past that office without the back of my neck knotting up in unison with my stomach. I've come to hate the job nearly as much as I hate this rotting, waterlogged, insular little town, and I finally broke down and cried and couldn't stop. Chris sprang into action and had an apartment lined up in no time. That was six days ago; we're moving back to Charleston on Wednesday.
Leave it to my subconscious to take a rough situation and re-write it as something even WORSE.
*Yeah, I dunno either. Go with it.
In this dream my office, in reality a townhouse sitting shoulder-to-shoulder with other townhouses on a busy street, had somehow acquired property. On the property there were dogs. How nice, my dream self thought, as in the course of my clerical duties I walked along the dirt drive.* Then I saw Ava. She was wet and bedraggled. Her tail was tucked between her legs and she was holding one forepaw up close to her chest. One of her back legs was practically shredded; the other dogs had hurt her. She looked at me, miserably, and I picked her up -- she was lighter than I expected, and didn't struggle -- and ran to the office to tell the Major that there was an emergency and I needed to leave.
He looked at us. Clients were coming in for a deposition or some other important business. "I don't see any emergency."
It didn't occur to me in this dream to rebel, to walk out anyway and take care of my dog. I put her in a room with another dog, a small mop-looking thing, where I hoped she'd be safe, noticing as I did so that her belly was terribly chewed-up and bloody. I went out to kill time until 5:00. There were things to do, and lots of people coming in and out, and my clothes kept disappearing. As soon as I had to deal with someone I'd have to go looking for a bra again, or a top, or just go in with my arms folded to give a message, and the whole time all I could think about was my dog bleeding and whining softly in that room.
Dream logic is twisted. Part of my time-killing strategy was to get in my car and drive a block or two, sick over my dog. I saw a parking lot ahead and pulled in to turn around, but the exit sent me in another direction. From there on it was a true nightmare as I drove block after block and became ever more lost. As soon as I had steered the car into a lane clearly marked with arrows, the arrows would reverse. The steering got sluggish. Ball joint? I glanced at the clock: 4:57. I had to get back to Ava! I was on a freeway now, with multiple lanes, and up ahead there was water in the lanes; was it passable? Other cars were going through. Bridges ahead, and boats. No, there was no bridge. The bridge was gone. The car shot off the end of the freeway into open space. Even the road noise ceased -- how's that for detail?
Gravity. I had time to realize with horror that it ends just this insensibly, here and now, and there was no escaping. I wondered if the impact would hurt. It didn't, but now I would drown, and so I drew a deep breath and waited.
That's when I woke up. And listened very hard for the sound of dog tags jingling from the crates in the living room.
So. Right now, Ava is curled up on the love seat where she technically is not allowed to be, having made herself a little nest of the plush throw. She is full of broth-soaked kibble since we're moving in three days and I had to do something with that chicken broth. She's also had a number of cookies, because while I'm usually not a compulsive treater, every time I look at her today I remember that too-real image of her bowed and shivering by the side of a dirt road and I just. Can't.
I quit my job last week. Unsurprisingly, I didn't quit until I simply could not take another minute. I can't drive past that office without the back of my neck knotting up in unison with my stomach. I've come to hate the job nearly as much as I hate this rotting, waterlogged, insular little town, and I finally broke down and cried and couldn't stop. Chris sprang into action and had an apartment lined up in no time. That was six days ago; we're moving back to Charleston on Wednesday.
Leave it to my subconscious to take a rough situation and re-write it as something even WORSE.
*Yeah, I dunno either. Go with it.