I had that dream again. You know the one. I've experienced it sporadically over the last twenty years.
For me, the setting is the good 'ole days of marching band, although I'd wager some version of it will be familiar to anyone that has ever worked diligently to memorize any sort of arrangement.
The dream goes like this: I find myself about to hit the field—something I've done in real life more times than I can count—only this time, I can't remember what show I'm about to perform. I can't recall the music, the steps, or even the current year. It is like I've suddenly been transported back in time, but I'm still the "me" of the present.
Not an ideal scenario, as you might imagine. Can't we do the one where I win the lottery again? I like that one.
I don't have a uniform or an instrument. I have to mime holding a saxophone as I waddle aimlessly around the field in my street clothes. (At least this isn't the "naked dream." That's an altogether different adventure.) I don't understand why I still have to march, considering the fact I'm obviously a time-traveling 42-year-old experiencing what any rational observer would logically conclude is some sort of complete mental breakdown.
I've never understood this dream, but I've had it many times over the years. It is a startlingly realistic simulation. I wake up in a sweat, taking several seconds to reorient myself as to where and WHEN I am.
It was only a dream. I'm okay. No one calls me "Chris" anymore. It was only a dream...
I wonder if Steph ever had this dream. I know she often dreamt of moving back into the house we lived in growing up, which is another single hot off my REM-induced greatest hits.
Weird, huh? What does any of it mean… if anything?
As someone who doesn't usually recall my dreams, these always hit me right in the gut. It is like I was really there. (I guess I was once, wasn't I? It was awkward then, too, for entirely different reasons.)
Oh, well. Here, in the waking world, I now have a very real problem...
…I can't get back to sleep.

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