Who Has the Next Line?

Last night I dreamt that I was in a stage play.  In the middle of the performance with about six actors on stage, a long and dreadful silence occurred.  Someone had forgotten his or her line.  I was fairly sure that it wasn’t I, but I was unsure who was responsible for the break in dialogue.

I tried so hard to remember what the next line was, so that I could whisper it.  I wondered why the prompter wasn’t feeding the line to the actor.  I tried to think of something to say that fit in with the scene and would help us get back on track.  I feared that if I said the wrong thing someone would pick up with a line from the next act and the situation would be irretrievable.

I was holding a very old book in my hands.  The book was small and narrow…taller than it was wide.  The cover was thick and stained.  The pages were yellowed and ragged.  I tried to search through the book without being obvious to the audience.  I thought maybe the next line was in the book.

The on-stage silence dragged on and on.  The audience remained quiet.  Eventually the entire scene drifted away without resolution.

When I woke up this morning, I kept thinking about the dream and wondering if it had meaning.

Which actor has forgotten the line?

If he or she waits too long to speak, should I say something? 

What if I say the wrong thing and life goes off in some crazy unintended direction?

Where is the prompter?

Is there an answer in the ancient book?

Who has the next line?

Too Strange

The whole idea of sleep and dreams is fascinating. We put our heads on pillows, close our eyes and quite purposely allow ourselves to become "unconscious" and vulnerable. While in this state our brains apparently do some sorting and filing and general house-keeping. I have some genuinely bizarre dreams that cause me to wonder just what on earth it is that my brain is actually doing.

Last night I dreamed that I was a guest in someone else's home. I got ready for bed, and as I turned out the bathroom light, I saw a parade of mice scurrying along the edge of the tub. I turned the light back on, but the mice had disappeared. One of my uncles entered the dream. He tried to help me locate the mice, but somehow they had turned into blue caterpillars which were trying to hide by causing themselves to blend in with objects in the room. Some were wrapped around blue ornaments on a Christmas tree. If there was more to the dream, I don't remember what it was.

This morning I told my husband about this strangeness.

He flashed me one of his impish grins and said, "I suppose such dreams are the curse of a creative mind."

Interesting concept....he, on the other hand, sometimes wakes up exhausted because he has played basketball or run all night long.