You know things have gotten weird when Covid infiltrates your dreams. I don’t know about you, but last night was the third time (at least) that I’ve dreamed I had the virus -- coughing, sore through, plugged nose. Then woke up and everything is fine. It says something when all the news moves into your subconscious.
The dream, like so many others, didn’t make sense for the most part. I was golfing (makes sense). My dad, who passed away four years ago, was with me. We had a golf cart, but it randomly jumped around the course.
Then my cell phone disappeared. Usually, I’d put the device in the compartment in front of the drivers’ side of the golf cart, but foraging there produced nothing, so my angst drove me and the cart maniacally around the course.
I couldn’t find the phone on the first tee box or around the second hole green. I kept searching, and like all dreams, this suddenly morphed into something else.
My shirt was off, and I knew you couldn’t play golf shirtless. I panicked. Where the heck is my shirt? This meant blasting off in the cart again, trying to retrieve my shirt. All along, my playing partners have left me, which makes me increasingly nervous. They are getting farther and farther ahead on the course, and dammit, I want to play with them.
Suddenly, I’m back on the first tee. I’m there with one of our nephews and our younger daughter. We’re teeing off down a hill, straight down a major city avenue. I can’t figure out what to do.
I’m told to just hit it straight, which I do, sending the ball bouncing and bouncing down the hill off the asphalt until I can’t see it anymore. Somewhere in the distance there has to be a hole we will play towards, but none materializes.
Then the sore throat hits. Don’t know why, but I find it scratchy back in the right tonsil area, and I’m worried I’m going to spread the virus. I start coughing, and it’s not just a little cough like when you get a morsel of food stuck in your through. Full-blooded hack. My nose plugs. I want to blow it, but don’t want anyone else to hear.
This continues for several holes. I can’t concentrate on my golf. My concern of contaminating others overwhelms me.
Of course, I wake up with no symptoms. But the dream certainly seems to symbolize so much of what we’re going through. I guess it only makes sense that at some point we’d start dreaming of Covid given the saturation news coverage we receive on it, and all the bad things happening.
Hopefully, my subconscious worked something out last night. I didn’t feel refreshed, but I can certainly look at the craziness of my dream and easily see what’s bothering me – being without a shirt in public; losing my cell phone; getting left behind; not knowing where the fairway is; catching the Covid.
If I can figure out why I had to drive the ball down that major city street, I’ll probably be able to fall asleep tonight with no concerns.
The dream, like so many others, didn’t make sense for the most part. I was golfing (makes sense). My dad, who passed away four years ago, was with me. We had a golf cart, but it randomly jumped around the course.
Then my cell phone disappeared. Usually, I’d put the device in the compartment in front of the drivers’ side of the golf cart, but foraging there produced nothing, so my angst drove me and the cart maniacally around the course.
I couldn’t find the phone on the first tee box or around the second hole green. I kept searching, and like all dreams, this suddenly morphed into something else.
My shirt was off, and I knew you couldn’t play golf shirtless. I panicked. Where the heck is my shirt? This meant blasting off in the cart again, trying to retrieve my shirt. All along, my playing partners have left me, which makes me increasingly nervous. They are getting farther and farther ahead on the course, and dammit, I want to play with them.
Suddenly, I’m back on the first tee. I’m there with one of our nephews and our younger daughter. We’re teeing off down a hill, straight down a major city avenue. I can’t figure out what to do.
I’m told to just hit it straight, which I do, sending the ball bouncing and bouncing down the hill off the asphalt until I can’t see it anymore. Somewhere in the distance there has to be a hole we will play towards, but none materializes.
Then the sore throat hits. Don’t know why, but I find it scratchy back in the right tonsil area, and I’m worried I’m going to spread the virus. I start coughing, and it’s not just a little cough like when you get a morsel of food stuck in your through. Full-blooded hack. My nose plugs. I want to blow it, but don’t want anyone else to hear.
This continues for several holes. I can’t concentrate on my golf. My concern of contaminating others overwhelms me.
Of course, I wake up with no symptoms. But the dream certainly seems to symbolize so much of what we’re going through. I guess it only makes sense that at some point we’d start dreaming of Covid given the saturation news coverage we receive on it, and all the bad things happening.
Hopefully, my subconscious worked something out last night. I didn’t feel refreshed, but I can certainly look at the craziness of my dream and easily see what’s bothering me – being without a shirt in public; losing my cell phone; getting left behind; not knowing where the fairway is; catching the Covid.
If I can figure out why I had to drive the ball down that major city street, I’ll probably be able to fall asleep tonight with no concerns.