Dream: School of the lost
I was the divorced mother of a beautiful little girl, whom I took to what I thought was my old school, although it didn’t look like it. I spent the day there, too, in a basement room. Whenever I came back from a break, there was cheering for me because someone would have announced I was divorced and had a daughter there (somewhere; I couldn’t remember where exactly). The other mothers thought this a great, brave thing.
At the end of the day, I saw a long line of women and stood in it, thinking it was to pick up either one’s purse or child, but after spending time it noticed it was for the bathroom.
I wandered until I found a basement room with a piles and piles of purses, a few similar to mine, but the instructor said I couldn’t bother her or the class until after it was over. By then, I was wondering how we were to get home, without a purse.
While I was waiting for her class to be over, I went to another bathroom, where all the toilets were broken. I found one that I could manage with mostly, and put Man O’War to shame. Some women — coaches or cleaning people? — would brush by me or push me like I wasn’t there or didn’t matter.
I went back and found a few remaining purses, but none was mine. I still could not remember where it was. I could not remember where my daughter was, either, although her reality had faded by now. I wondered what was going to become of me.
And then I woke up, lost.
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