Last night I dreamed again of running, but not like the dream that has haunted me my life through, this dream was of a far far better run than I have ever done.
For years and years and years I have had a recurring dream. (Not the one where I am naked in the halls of my high school, I don’t expect to ever get over that). But a dream where I am trying to run and can’t. I’m not being chased, it’s not a nightmare, I just can’t run.
My slumbered attempts at a gazelle like gallop have hence forth been thwarted. I managed only a slow motion lumber, often resulting in dropping to my hands and feet as I try, in heart-wrenching vain, to crest a hill or a crack in a sidewalk. On occasion the dream-me turns and runs backwards, seemingly her only choice to make any progress as it were.
But last night I ran like the wind. Call me Mariah.
Seriously though, I ran. I passed people, then they passed me, but I did not give up. I dug in and tried to pass them again while I plotted my next move. I ran.
Does this mean anything? Am I turning a page? I think so! There’s a new sheriff in dream town and she’s kickin ass and takin names.