Today is my first day at a new and exciting job and I am terrified. I mean, I don’t feel terrified, I feel vaguely nervous, but I’ve been having an unusual number of dreams that cause me to awaken in a panic, while it is still dark outside. Change is hard, I guess, and my subconscious is trying to deal with it. Here is an analysis of some of those dreams.
I’m in my boyfriend’s house and his roommates and I are talking about tattoos. It is decided that I will get a stick and poke tattoo of Robin Lopez on my skull but first I have to shave my head so they can give me the tattoo. I am worried about shaving my head, even though I know my hair will grow back over the tattoo. I get into a bathtub as they prepare to shave my head. I wake up.
Analysis: I want to prove to my new coworkers that I know and care about basketball, after the first time I met them I called Steph Curry “Steven.” Also, I need a haircut. Also, I don’t want to die.
I’m at Girl Scout camp, the one I attended as a child, but it’s now and it is night and I have borrowed a canoe from a man on the shore and am paddling around a small island in the choppy, dark water. Now I am swimming through the water, with a life-jacket on, reaching the shore, standing with the man. Across the street, we see some sort of altercation with a cop and a guy. The guy jumps into his car and pulls around the corner but the cop pulls through a parking lot, cutting him off and slamming his car, a Jeep, into the side of a motel. The man jumps out of the Jeep and tries to flee. Inside the Jeep, there is a child and a woman, handcuffed to the roll bars. The cop starts to free them and suddenly the man is back, about to kill everyone. A melee ensues. I wake up.
Analysis: Being a Girl Scout is a fundamental part of my identity. Men who drive Jeeps should not be trusted but men who loan you canoes and life-jackets in the middle of the night are totally okay. I feel helpless, like I am not good enough. I am afraid of death.
It is the first day of my new job and before it all really starts, I am going to teach a yoga class on the porch of my old Girl Scout camp to a bunch of what appear to be Greek life students at a college. I start the class and everyone just sort of wanders away, bored. I go into a bathroom to change and come out to my new job. I look around and can tell for sure that everyone hates me. I wake up.
Analysis: As a Girl Scout, I will always be uncool. I worry that I am boring, which is a cliched thing to worry about which makes me even more boring and even more worried. After the whole “Steven” Curry fiasco, it seems likely no one at my new job will like me. The fact that I am still worrying about this is boring, maybe even more boring than worrying about being boring. It is possible, even likely, that I will never be good enough. Ultimately, we are all going to die.