Ah, this time of year. It’s my favorite. I’ve written about it before — this time last year, logically enough.
What I didn’t say then: as the leaves turn, as the rain starts falling, it’s harder and harder to get me out of the house. That’s exacerbated this year because of my Summer-Full-Of-Travel. All I want to do is alternate between curling up with a book (or, god help me, a shelter magazine, because I’m that kind of girl), writing, being online, and puttering around the house, the stereo on, but not loud, so the music just adds a subtle evocative layer to the already-lovely experience of just being home. It’s the time of year I feel most like a hobbit, or a hibernating sort of mammal. Slowing down, contemplating, staring into space.
Sadly, my subconscious doesn’t comply. My dreams are ludicrously easy to interpret: I get out of my car while it’s still running. I watch it smash into one vehicle after another, and an aghast crowd watches, too. I’m in court, and it’s somehow also a job interview, and I’m justifying, explaining, rationalizing, and no one believes me.
What are your recurring anxiety dreams?
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