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Thursday, March 6, 2014

The Nocturnal Dreams of a Silly Old Woman

                                      The Bondi Vet

In Freudian dream analysis, content is both the manifest and latent content in a dream, that is, the dream itself as it is remembered, and the hidden meaning of the dream.

Nothing inspires my blood pressure to significantly drop triggering compulsive and rude yawning than when someone starts telling me about the dream they had the preceding night. It might be fascinating to the dreamer but is excruciatingly mind-numbing for the unfortunate addressee.

With that in mind... I’ll try to keep this brief.

There are a few recurring dreams which disturb Pinky’s beauty sleep and I love nothing more than to try to deconstruct and analyse them.

Whilst I don’t have the classic “Naked” dream I often experience its cousin; the “Wearing No Underpants” dream. In this particular nightmare I’m always wearing a t-shirt in which I walk around in public desperately and unsuccessfully attempting to cover my ‘Republic of Labia’ by stretching the garment downwards and over.

Clearly, this dream is a subconscious revelation about Pinky’s reluctance to display private facts about her secret lifestyle. Things like the fact she scrapes gravy off her plate with her little finger and licks it off or that she wears a Velcro hair roller in her fringe every morning.

In another horrible and oft repeated nightmare, I awaken trembling, sweating and gasping. It’s the one where many years ago I apparently buried scores of dead bodies under the house and the police are doing an investigation and are about to start an excavation exposing my heinous crimes.

Do I have to explain how I interpret that little gem? 

Personally I don’t think I’ve done that many things to be guilty about but according to Freud the subconscious mind never lies.

Of course, I also have that old chestnut where my front teeth fall out and I put that down to the guilt I shoulder when I’ve been too lazy to clean my teeth before bed.

However, last night’s dream was especially difficult to decipher.

I was working at a food booth at a school fete and working at another booth beside me was none other than celebrity, the “Bondi Vet”. 

The Bondi Vet kept staring at me with his unsettling blue eyes and after a while a middle-aged Sri Lankan lady (who bore a striking resemblance to my Uro-Gynaecologist) approached me and informed me quite passionately that the Bondi Vet wouldn’t stop talking about me and was indeed, completely in love with Pinky. 

I was very flattered even though I didn’t fancy him back (despite my admiration of his large chiselled jaw)... and then I woke up.

I fleetingly thought about shaking Scotto awake and regaling him with the details of my brush with fame but immediately had second thoughts. I didn’t want Scotto to be jealous of the Bondi Vet.

Why? Why? Why? Why did the Bondi Vet find me to be so alluring?

I gradually nutted the pieces of my previous day together and it all began to make sense.

1. Daughter Lulu, had come home yesterday and told me how she’d handed in six resumes to various veterinarian surgeries around town seeking a job to fill in her gap year.

2. I’d spent some time last night looking at photographs of a storm approaching Bondi Beach.

3. I’d spent 40 minutes talking to my parents on the phone about my trip to the Uro-Gynaecologist.


And as far as the Bondi Vet and I go… it would never have worked out.

Firstly I’m happily married to Scotto and secondly, if the B.V. and I went out in public, people would mistake me for his elder sister and I really couldn’t stand the snide remarks.

What about you? Do you ever have recurring dreams?

Linking up with Grace, at With Some Grace!