I often dream that I’m superwoman.
Sounds awesome, right? Soaring high overhead like some majestic bird?
Instead of coasting in the clouds, this superwoman is skimming the ground with her belly, like a human skateboard. I inhale dirt chunks and choke down pebbles.
In every dream, I’m giving myself a ride somewhere, or riding myself, that’s not what I mean with this one, and I’m flying low to the pavement like a broken, awkward hovercraft, bumping and skinning my chin, elbows, knees and other dragging parts on the gravel. I’ve even been concerned mid-dream that my clothes would be ripped and stained by the various roadkill I pass. And I wonder if I’m going to reek like that dead skunk carcass I mushed over a few miles back once I reach my destination. (My subconscious knows how important keeping up appearances is, even if I’ve belly-flop-dragged myself all the way to the party.)
Funny thing is, I never actually reach a destination. The whole dream is my Aladdin’s-magic-carpet-ride body just floating steadily along.
So what the hell does this reoccurring dream mean?
Oh, you think I have an explanation?
No, I don’t.
I’m asking you.