I had this reoccurring dream again last night. It’s not nearly as interesting as the one where I’m going to work or class stark, bare-assed naked, but I haven’t had one of those in years. Plus Eugie-the-dreamer is always amused with that dream rather than mortified, which I think is what’s supposed to be the requisite emotion. (Hmm. What does that say about my psyche? Mostly that I’m not into dream analysis, I suspect.)
Anyway, my dream is that I’m getting ready for finals (Note: I’ve been out of school for years) and I realize that I’ve just plum completely forgotten about a class–Biology. Now why is it always Biology?–all semester long. And I’m all panic-stricken because there’s this big test coming up and I haven’t attended class all semester. Then, when I try to either 1. vainly attempt to make up the whole semester in one review sitting or 2. beg the professor for more time, I can’t remember where the classroom is and I can’t find my schedule book that will (ostensibly) tell me. Of course, if I had my schedule with me in the first place, I assume I wouldn’t have forgotten about the class. But why, for godsakes, am I dreaming about missed classes? It always leaves me with the vague feeling that I’ve forgotten something when I wake up.
I’d much rather have that sex dream where I’m flying over this forest of phallic trees . . . .
What’s really ironic is that I think Freud and his theories are all tom-quackery. Snarf.