Ego? Common sense? I have never really been known to possess too much of either ingredient but the dream certainly did seem to be a manifestation of conflict. Who would blow such a great chance to star on Broadway? Why, in the name of Stephen Sondheim, hadn’t I prepared properly? As the day progressed and the dream stuck with me, I tried—as is my habit—to weave it into some sort of terrifying parable to use to control my sons’ behavior (my most sacred goal). I also decided to take the more coherent components of this dream to heart.
Maybe I should try to break into musical theater. But it’s way too late to play the ingénue. I’d have to settle for roles like singing prison matron or acerbic dowager. Or maybe I should try to prepare for things that are coming down the pike. Of course the future is a mystery (other than the Mets blowing all early season advantages and ending up in the toilet again—Mets jab # 8 in a series for those keeping count) but there are things upon which I should focus—like my own future as an empty nester and what to do with myself on a daily basis other than pine for my absent children and construct booby-traps around the house for Seth.
I will continue thinking about all this for a while. I remember many of my dreams, often taking them to heart because I do believe our subconscious has much to tell us (especially in the one where I tried to kill Justin Beiber). If we pay attention, we might just learn a thing or two. I intend to spend the remainder of the afternoon brushing up on the lyrics of “Sunrise Sunset” and trying to wean myself off on-line Scrabble. That’s enough for one day.