Then I woke up screaming
I’ve been trying really hard lately not to take my stress home with me. And for the most part, I’ve been succeeding. Spectacularly, really. I’ve been relaxed without being indifferent, focused without being obsessive, committed without being manic. All the things a well-adjusted human being is supposed to be. I’ve been proud.
But this morning, man … wow. This morning — just a few minutes ago — I woke up from the worst dream I’ve had in a long time. It wasn’t a nightmare; I wasn’t running through molasses and my teeth weren’t falling out. It was a dream about work, and it was just nuts, man. People always talk about waking up screaming, and I think it’s hyperbole. I didn’t actually wake up screaming. But I woke up with adrenaline surging through my veins and a shout in the back of my mouth, all formed and ready to fly.
As dreams go, it was pretty archetypal. It was about control, or more to the point the loss of control. It was about the dissolution of all that I’ve accomplished in the past month or so. And at the end, it was about me losing my shit and yelling at the top of my lungs at a couple of people who just stood there smiling at me smugly as if everything were going according to plan.
I dunno. Maybe it’s nothing. Maybe it’s just the culmination of the fact that I talked — or at least attempted to talk — three people out of quitting their jobs this week. Maybe that just weighed on me more than I realized.
Or maybe it was just something I ate.
Either way, it’s cloudy this morning, and the forecast calls for rain, and I’ve got new books to read — impulse trip to the bookstore yesterday — and laundry to do, so I’m going to get serious about getting in some intense unwinding today. If … uh … that weren’t such a blatant contradiction in terms.