Dreaming of a brighter future

 I had an anxiety dream last night. Though I feel a bit guilty telling you about it.

Dream-talk is banned in our house. It began one morning about 20 years ago when I was telling Brian about the dream I’d had the previous night. It went something like: “I was walking down the road, only it wasn’t a road, more of a desert, and then you came along, though it wasn’t really you, you were a woman…..” 

And Brian asked me, quite civilly, to stop filing his head with things that hadn’t actually happened.

Just like that, dreams were outlawed. While it’s true that other people’s dreams can be pretty dull, I still find it frustrating not being able to talk about my own. Robbie understands – he’s another regular dreamer and he and I sometimes have covert dream-discussions at home, looking furtively over our shoulders in case the Dream Grinch happens to be lurking nearby.

So, back to last night’s dream. I had just flown to Germany – not to visit Josie, sadly, though I saw her at the airport meeting friends. Josie’s friends were armed with disinfectant sprays for some reason and they both squirted Josie when they met. “Hey!” (Squirt). “Great to see you!” (Squirt, squirt). Then I realised that I too was holding a disinfectant spray. And at the same time I realised that I’d left the contact details of the person I was visiting on my computer at home. 

How could I access this information? I could phone home and ask Robbie for it, but he was no longer living with us. Or I could phone Barbara-next-door who has a key…… but she might be unavailable.

Not sure why I’d airbrushed Brian out of this entire situation. Maybe Sleeping Ann was still feeling bitter about the whole dream veto thing.

Anyway, I eventually resolved the problem by waking up. But then I noticed a pattern. Every dream I’ve had for the past few weeks has involved an activity that we’re no longer allowed to do. Either I’m on a flight to somewhere exotic or I’m walking through a busy London street, or in a pub, laughing with friends in a cosy nook.

I’ve assumed that I’d been dreaming about how things used to be. But the presence of the disinfectant spray in last night’s dream tells another story. Perhaps I’m dreaming about what life will look like after the lockdown?

Will things ever be the same again? Will bars and restaurants reconfigure their premises to allow for social distancing? Will we have our temperature taken routinely before boarding a flight? Will cruises be outlawed, and hand-shaking be banned?

Of course, it could go another way. Perhaps we’ll become a kinder society, more appreciative of each other and the world we’ve temporarily become divorced from. Maybe we’ll take fewer holidays, but they'ill feel more special as a result. Or perhaps we’ll resume our social gatherings, meeting more frequently and hugging more – just because we can. Provided we take along our disinfectant sprays, that is. Squirt, squirt.