Tuesday, May 22, 2007

My So Called Glamorous Life

I just came off a long weekend that was crammed with kid events. Starting Thursday night, we attended the Middle School production of Midsummer Night's Dream (which was fabulous, by the way); Friday was set break down and cast party; a flute lesson; driving 3 girls to Girl Scout camp; Saturday was sending Mr. Sweetie off on a business trip; post Girl Scout camp Bat Mitzvah party where Pony got home at 11 p.m.; Sunday was Bunny's aerial arts performance; which covered a good 5 hours of the day.

When I looked at this fabulous collection of activities, I noticed a distinct lack of my own interests being pursued. This wasn't a big deal, because in a busy weekend like that, it's a full time job making sure everybody gets to where they are supposed to be--with all the stuff they need to have.

But, as the weekend wore off, and we all needed some rest, I realized that I wasn't getting very good sleep either, due to some hard work I was having to do in my dreams.

I tend to have very elaborate and detailed dreams--this is nothing new. But, what was new this weekend was the subject of my dreams. Sure, there was a ton of pop culture detritus; some Homer Simpson, some science fiction zoology; super spy foiling a Nazi nuclear plot. But stripped of all the trappings, here's what my dreams were:

Saturday Night: doing laundry.
Sunday Night: making dinner--I even dreamed the recipe.
Monday Night: calling home before it gets late so parents don't worry.

I don't know, but shouldn't dreams be something other than practical?

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