I was having one of those dreams last night. You know the kind. They usually happen right before time to wake up, and are inspired by anxiety from the waking world leaking out of the subconscious.
I’ve had variations on this one hundreds of times. but this one took a turn. Let me tell you about it.
I was in college, and I was late to class. In fact, I think the class was almost over by the time I arrived. As I tried to enter the room quietly, I saw that the desks were strewn about the room in no discernible arrangement. People weren’t in their right seats, having abandoned their stuff at one desk to go sit elsewhere. So it was hard to determine where I might sit, and I had to walk all the way across the room to find a spot.
The teacher was explaining an assignment, the details of which were pertinent and funny but which have sadly already slipped away from me. I do remember that, naturally, I couldn’t find a pencil, or paper, or my textbook to help me. As I settled down to finally start writing, I noticed that the guy next to me had decided to just write a poem instead. The classroom was in complete chaos, with the teacher, who was sometimes at his desk glaring and other times completely absent from the room, alternately ignoring us and yelling that we would fail the class if we did the assignment wrong.
You probably saw this coming a mile off. Here’s the teacher:
And then I woke up.