I woke up at 3 am from a freaky ass dream and then sat awake
for an hour thinking I might be dying because my throat has a swollen gland. In
my dream I was in a TV contest and whoever killed off all the other contestants
won. I felt confident I was going to win even though my tactic for killing
people was hardly cinematic. I’d just touch them and then they lay down with
their tongue out, dead. I had no guilt or conscious about killing people and
spent most the time admiring my beautiful house. I was wearing a hooded
sweatshirt with white bikini bottoms while running around killing people and pleased
with my lovely modern town home and personal grotto. This dream reflects that I
am a vain greedy sociopath, which isn’t news to me. The dream must be the
aftermath of my part time job search. Since the weekend is the only time I can
put in billable hours I thought retail would be perfect. I’m used to people talking
to me like a servant, I like looking at pretty things, and shooting the shit in
an impersonal way is one of my greatest assets. However, once the stranger goes
in for a hug or starts to tell me about a dying relative, I cringe and walk
away.
I was rejected after my first interview, so when I was
called for an interview with a different department I took a completely
different approach. When asked how I handle competition with coworkers, I took
off my soft gloves. During the first interview I spouted out all this crap
about camaraderie and teamwork, but during the second interview, I was cut
throat, and basically said, “Were all here to work, so I don’t care if I step
on toes. I am not here to make friends.” Right after I said it, the lady gave
an ear-to-ear grin, confirming that this was exactly what she wanted to hear. Another
question was asked about what inspires me. During the first interview I gave some
sincere, but completely boring, answer about my kids. During the second
interview when they asked what inspires me I answered with straight face
seriousness, “money inspires me. I want to make more and more money.” Again,
big ass smile on interview lady’s face. She shook her head in agreement, like,
“yep, you finally got it, bitch. We want power hungry, cut throat ass holes working
here. And you better have a fucking smile, like this shit eating grin, on your
face all day long while your selling these expensive ass clothes that were made
for pennies on the dollar by children in 3rd world countries.”
 |
| optimistic and demoralized |
Rejected again. It has become a pattern in my life, and the
really amazing thing about it is that I am becoming immune to it. I write
essays and stories that I submit and they all get rejected, which at first was
troublesome but now its expected so just getting a personalized rejection
letter is on par with being published in the New Yorker. The most surprising
part of my dream was not that I was going around killing people, but my
confidence in winning. Not even a shred of doubt. When in reality my
expectations are set at “Not eva gonna happen, bitch” Clearly my psyche has not
gotten onboard with my new downtrodden disposition. After I woke up I had a
terrible sore throat from my cough and a swollen glad that had me questioning
if I am dying. I climbed out of bed, went to the kitchen for a throat lozenge
and threw out my cigarettes. My heightened anxiety about death would surely be
forgotten the next night when I’m looking to unwind before bed. I’ll take this
amnesia as a sign of optimism in a time of demoralization. Even though I’m
drowning in rejection, deep down I’m still certain the rejection won’t last
forever. It just took a dream about murdering people followed by restless fears
that I’m terminally ill to reaffirm my confidence.
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