No one cares what your dream was about, period.
No matter how interesting you think your dream is, it really won’t intrigue most people (this, of course, excludes the Dream Doctor on the radio, from whom I had to ween Jenn last year, and of course, Martin Luther King Jr.).
Have you ever had anyone ask a follow-up question to your dream? Through anecdotal evidence, the answer is ‘no’ 98 percent of the time. But what do we do—we keep on sharing our dreams with family members, co-workers and even strangers. Why do we share our dreams with other people when we don’t really listen (or care) when someone approaches us with, “Hey, I had this weird dream last night.” Which reminds me…
I had a pretty weird dream last night:
I boarded the bus at the Park & Ride nearest our house. I know I wasn’t going to work because I was wearing Jeans and a T-shirt. It looked like a normal bus with your normal bus people: the lady holding her purse like it contains a winning lotto ticket; the guy with the headphones but no player; the guy looking around just waiting for someone to look at him so he can tell them about the “$7,000 shot I had to get for my dog and if you want a pet, you’d better start saving now because they deserve every penny.”
After sitting there for a time, the main Park and Ride manager came on the bus, walked right toward me and said, “We are short of drivers; can you take the route today?” Simply put, I was astonished. I had been riding the bus for a mere month and a half and already I was being given the responsibility of a lifetime. I would be responsible for getting people to their jobs, doctors’ appointments, university classes, and even scheduled drug deals. I looked around, astonished that no one protested. Of course I said yes!
The next thing I know, I find my way to the driver’s seat, pull out some pilot glasses (no joke) and start heading down the road. Everything is going fine and dandy for the first 5 or 6 stops until I realize my brakes aren’t working that good—I have to slam on them really hard and even then I don’t really stop for about 3 seconds. I finally decide to call in the problem and I demand that they send out another bus to me. Now, I’m normally not a bossy guy; I don’t know if it was newfound stewardship or the pilot glasses, but my bus riders needed me—their deadlines were now my deadlines. Needless to say, we were left waiting, stranded out by a bowling alley I have never seen, on a street that doesn’t exist. I wish I could tell you that I finished my route with courage and integrity, and that I rented a rickshaw or something, but alas, I woke up as we were all heading into the bowling alley for a couple of games.
Moral of the story: Do not eat three bowls of Taco Soup right before bedtime.
No matter how interesting you think your dream is, it really won’t intrigue most people (this, of course, excludes the Dream Doctor on the radio, from whom I had to ween Jenn last year, and of course, Martin Luther King Jr.).
Have you ever had anyone ask a follow-up question to your dream? Through anecdotal evidence, the answer is ‘no’ 98 percent of the time. But what do we do—we keep on sharing our dreams with family members, co-workers and even strangers. Why do we share our dreams with other people when we don’t really listen (or care) when someone approaches us with, “Hey, I had this weird dream last night.” Which reminds me…
I had a pretty weird dream last night:
I boarded the bus at the Park & Ride nearest our house. I know I wasn’t going to work because I was wearing Jeans and a T-shirt. It looked like a normal bus with your normal bus people: the lady holding her purse like it contains a winning lotto ticket; the guy with the headphones but no player; the guy looking around just waiting for someone to look at him so he can tell them about the “$7,000 shot I had to get for my dog and if you want a pet, you’d better start saving now because they deserve every penny.”
After sitting there for a time, the main Park and Ride manager came on the bus, walked right toward me and said, “We are short of drivers; can you take the route today?” Simply put, I was astonished. I had been riding the bus for a mere month and a half and already I was being given the responsibility of a lifetime. I would be responsible for getting people to their jobs, doctors’ appointments, university classes, and even scheduled drug deals. I looked around, astonished that no one protested. Of course I said yes!
The next thing I know, I find my way to the driver’s seat, pull out some pilot glasses (no joke) and start heading down the road. Everything is going fine and dandy for the first 5 or 6 stops until I realize my brakes aren’t working that good—I have to slam on them really hard and even then I don’t really stop for about 3 seconds. I finally decide to call in the problem and I demand that they send out another bus to me. Now, I’m normally not a bossy guy; I don’t know if it was newfound stewardship or the pilot glasses, but my bus riders needed me—their deadlines were now my deadlines. Needless to say, we were left waiting, stranded out by a bowling alley I have never seen, on a street that doesn’t exist. I wish I could tell you that I finished my route with courage and integrity, and that I rented a rickshaw or something, but alas, I woke up as we were all heading into the bowling alley for a couple of games.
Moral of the story: Do not eat three bowls of Taco Soup right before bedtime.
1 comment:
You mean no one cares that the other night I dreamed that I and Brother Leiber were running away from the machines in "War of the Worlds?" And he was slowing me down? I can't believe that!!!!!
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