Last night I dreamed I was shot in the head. Twice.
I’m choosing to see it as a good thing.
What is it they say about death? Or, dreaming about death, in this case? Not sure who “they” are, but I’ve heard more than once that dreaming you’ve died rarely portends physical death. Rather, it signifies a part of oneself that is dying or has died, to make room for new growth. A new you.
In this light, dreaming I was shot, twice, in the head last night (and the assailant was coming back to finish me off with a third bullet when I woke up, heart racing) is… a good sign.
Both my kids told me over the weekend not to return to the work I’ve been doing for decades. They see it doesn’t make me happy. They see it makes me miserable.
But, maybe I just don’t like to work, as my oldest friend once said, bitingly. (And yes, it hurt.)
Perhaps it’s true.
I’ve never been drawn to the corporate world. Nay, it’s the opposite. I’ve always been repelled by the corporate world. I fell into it early, working as a secretary to put myself through school. After that I bumbled along and took any job that would have me, really. I never put serious thought into what I wanted to do.
That’s not exactly true. I always wanted to be a writer, since I was ten years…
