Analyzing my dream…

I haven’t remembered most of my dreams for a very long time. I used to have crazy weird dreams a lot and I’d remember them in vivid detail. Like the time I asked my roommate what she wanted for dinner: “Beans, peas, tomato rice soup?!” I’ve never eaten a bowl of tomato rice soup in my life. That dream was 25 years ago and I still remember it, yet I couldn’t tell you what I had for dinner two nights ago. Odd how the mind works, isn’t it?

Or, one of my all time favorite dreams EVER… About 10 years ago, I dreamt that my boss at the time had really long, thick, wavy hair. Like … Tiny Tim long, thick and wavy.

He was really proud of his long hair and kept flipping it around and flicking it back with his hand – much like you would over-exaggerate how a stereotypical flirting girl might flip her hair. Then, he walked past me and I noticed that his chest was protruding quite a lot — as if he had breasts. I poked one and it indented and made a crinkling sound. It was in the shape of the clear domed plastic top that’s on the cup when you buy an Icee at the gas station — including the hole at the end. My eyes got really big like “Dude, what the fuck??!!” And he looked at me like “WHAT?” — as if he had always worn them. I looked at his hair again and said to him, “Do you want to borrow my flat iron?” He got all pissed off. I was just trying to be nice.

WHAT the hell was that dream about? I have no idea, but you can be assured that I immediately told my boss about it. He roared! Thank god, because telling your boss you had a dream about him has the potential of going a few different ways, and it could have created quite an awkward moment. Or working relationship.

So anyway, for whatever reason, I either haven’t had any dreams (doubtful) or haven’t remembered them for quite some time, except for an occasional random one.

Well, earlier this week was that random occasion. I didn’t immediately remember it, but as I methodically washed from head to toe in the shower, as I always do, when I got to my legs, I was surprised to find them unshaven. I was perplexed for about 3 seconds — just long enough to rattle my memory that I had only dreamt my legs were nice and smooth. Ha!

Now you might not really think this is that funny. But it struck me as funny because, if I’m being honest, I don’t find the need to shave my legs. It’s winter in the Midwest and bloody cold (currently, the wind chill is 14). I don’t wear dresses/skirts, and no one is sliding their hand up my leg — either for entertainment or just to check to see if I’ve shaved. And if I’m being incredibly honest, I haven’t shaved my legs in weeks. Months, in fact.

art beautiful blur celebration
Photo by Pixabay on

SO. I’ve been thinking about this dream for a few days. Analyzing it. Mulling it over. What was the point of it? What does it mean? Maybe subconsciously it means I’m moving closer to being ready to date. If my legs are white, dimpled with cellulite, dry, scaly, and hairy, I’m clearly not in the frame of mind to pursue a relationship. Maybe my hairy legs are my “shell” of protection and I’m getting ready to free the armor.

brown animal on brown rock pathway
Photo by Free Nature Stock on

As long as my legs are hairy, I’m not going to date. Because, you know, when you’re dating someone, that one time you don’t shave your legs — THAT’S the time you should have because Winston was about to get his freak on at the end of date night. So maybe my not shaving is my protection from dating. Fear of being intimate. Fear of being vulnerable. Fear of getting close to someone or, god forbid, someone getting close to me. Someone wanting part of my time. Too much of my time! Wanting to know things about me and telling me things about him. Maybe it’s a fear of losing a part of myself.

Or it could just be that I’m lazy as fuck and just don’t feel like shaving. Which is probably the closest to the truth, really.

Maybe, jusssst mayyyybeeee, I’ll consider actually shaving my legs this week. Because I just slid my hand across my leg and I had to look to make sure I was feeling my own leg and not the cat’s.

Have a great week! Nine days down…


Powered by

Up ↑

%d bloggers like this: