So… the dream begins with me, at 37, showing up for final exams at my elementary school. Apparently I had slipped through without meeting some requirement so I had to take a bunch of exams to validate my passage through all of the next 14 years of education.
I arrive and immediately a man in a suit comes up and asks if I have been submitting weekly reports on my progress. Apparently my subconscious knew this question was coming because I replied that I had been submitting them to Mr. ___________ every Monday. He then handed me a coded schedule of every final exam that was longer than the Magna Carta, ushered me to a comfy chair in a private room, handed me a box of sharpened #2 pencils and wished me luck. I couldn’t make heads or tails out of the exam schedule, and on cue walks in Benjamin Ree, a college chum who always had a grasp on everything.
He takes the schedule and circles each exam I’m to attend, gives me a cup of coffee and leaves. Turns out I’m 30 minutes late for an exam already so I change my shoes, go out in the hall, find what I think is the correct door and go in and take the last available seat. Everyone else in the room is a 30-ish year old woman, which strikes me as odd for a grade school classroom. Then a nurse walks in and starts passing out cheap plastic drip pans and a pregnancy test kit to each woman. I left.
Back at the private room, I tried to figure out where to go, when a young administrative type brings me a lunch tray and leaves without a word. I eat, and an old man with a wheeled trash bin comes out of a secret door, takes my garbage, and goes right back the way he came. Somehow this wasn’t a surprise either.
I was a bit alarmed when my father popped in with a bottle of my favorite Scotch (confession: a bottle of the only Scotch I have actually purchased in a store but quite like for it’s vanilla and hazelnut overtones and smooth finish) and said I was done with exams. When I asked why, he explained that some other school had closed which somehow exempted me from whatever I was attempting to do in the first place. He didn’t stick around (he prefers brandy) so I drank a bit, left the room and was run over by one of those golf-cart style security buggies.
That’s when I woke up. NO idea what to make of it. Any thoughts, please leave a comment on how you would interpret this. Thanks!