I had two dreams last night.
In the first dream, I was 27 again, back working in a machine tool factory in Detroit on Eight Mile Rd. The factory was dirty and the neighborhood looked like it had been bombed, but I loved my work and was certain that I was going to go on to do great things.
I no longer believe that I’m going to do great things. Or maybe my definition of “great” has changed.
In my second dream, I was about 30 and was sitting at the kitchen table in my grandmother’s house, talking to my mother and her sister (my aunt). They told me that my grandmother was getting married today, and I said “Wait a minute! Why aren’t we at the church?”
They said that she’s marrying a 20 yo guy who doesn’t have a job, and I was outraged.
“How can she do that?”, I asked. “He’s only after her money.”
In reality, my ESI grandmother didn’t have any money. She was widowed at the age of 49 or so and lived alone until she died at age 87.
Sometimes, I think that my subconscious hates me.