An Anxiety Dream

First off, before I describe the dream, I'll say that Independence Day was nice; I spent the day before the fireworks reflecting on how fortunate we are to be in a country that hasn't flopped yet due to tyranny, multiple coup-de-tats, or any other possible downfalls. Our constitution is still applicable, even today (and I know that the constitution doesn't have anything to do with Independence Day, but it deserves mention). So, thank you, Mr. Adams, even if no one in Congress particularly liked you (as it seems to be depicted in 1776). You're a cool guy, nowadays.

Speaking of which, have you noticed how some deceased people who are famous today weren't in their lifetime? Poets (Edgar Allan Poe and Emily Dickinson being good examples) especially seem to get this raw deal. Dickinson spent her life being a recluse, locked in her bedroom, and it wasn't until after her death that her sister found several thousand poems locked in the room with her that brought her to her current fame.

But anyways, we went to Lewisville to watch the fireworks, and there was a cover band that provided some entertainment before the show. We ran into one of my dad's old friends, who apparently went to the School of the Arts for film and is now a small celebrity behind some current reality TV shows. Hope was really tired; I tried to pull her up to the cleared space for dancing, as she usually likes to dance at concerts, but she kept going back to her seat, and became immensely upset that we didn't have any sparklers.

When the fireworks finally started, the DJ began by playing a classical music overture of some sort; when that was over, they put on I'm Proud to be an American, which they were bound to play at some point that night; they overplay that song, in fact, to the point that they might even consider making it our new national anthem. Haha, just kidding. It was the longest fireworks show that I've ever seen in my life, and the finale was amazing; I got some pictures and a few videos.

Now, the dream: Lately, I've been having a lot of stressful, first-day-of-high-school dreams. Tonight's was similar, but clearer and easier to remember, which is precisely the reason that I'll be recounting it for my avid readers.

At the beginning of the dream, I was late; I had forgotten my backpack at home halfway to school, but my mom refused to go back and get it, and I was still late. I was running around in the huge, confusing building that was supposed to be a school, stumbling into people that were emerging from their classes. The bell, which was really high-pitched and annoying, rang continuously as though it was right next to my ear, and kept ringing, even once the students went into different classrooms. I kept looking around for a familiar face, to see if I could just sneak into that class; but then, I forgot that it wasn't middle school anymore, and that we would all have completely different classes; and then, I realized that I didn't have my schedule.

I asked a tall, faceless boy who looked like a senior for directions to the office. He pointed right across the hall, and I entered. Manning the desk was Mrs. Curtis, our old Hanes librarian.

The minute I entered, she gave me a sympathetic look and said, "Late for your first day?"

"Yeah," I said, "And I also don't have my schedule; may I have a copy of one, please?"

"I'm afraid not," she said. "The office is out of printing paper, but I can tell you your next few classes."

Though I don't remember the order of any of the others, I remember that math class would be my first stop, and that I would have to interrupt the teacher midway through her lecture.

Mrs. Curtis gave me directions, of which I only remember that there were "highways" and "turnings at intersections" involved; it was as if she was giving me directions through the town inside of within the school.

I dashed through the wide hallways, trying not to be later than I already was. The walls of the school were all blue, and this made me uncomfortable for some reason, possibly because it was something that I wasn't used to; I associate schools with plain-colored walls.

I approached a wide, spiraling staircase and ran down it, coming to a stop outside of the classroom door, out of breath. I opened the door as quietly as possible and received the blank stare of thirty students, the stare I would always receive in elementary school when I was late.

I crept to a decadent desk in the back row, trying not to interrupt the teacher, who was still speaking, when she said, in a voice sterner than any teacher I've ever had, "Welcome to class, Ms. Witt."

She spoke with the I-already-hate-you-because-I-only-judge-off-of-first-impressions tone. I looked up and was immediately surprised by her appearance; she looked exactly like Sarah McLachlan in the Humane Society commericials, except sterner. My first thought was that my dad would think she was hot (he thinks Sarah McLachlan is hot; we had seen that commercial the previous day, which is probably why the math teacher in the dream looked like this).

She turned back to the board and continued writing and speaking simultaneously. I sat, watching everyone else take notes, feeling naked without my notebook and pencil. There was a poster on the wall that had pictures of some fifty things, including expensive calculators, a certain brand of stapler, and labeled dividers.

While I was busy looking at this poster, the teacher stopped speaking again and directly addressed me. "Why aren't you taking notes?" she asked sharply.

Not wanting to use my mom's refusal to return home as an excuse, I said, "I forgot my backpack at home. I'm sorry." She snorted and rolled her eyes; then, noticing that I was looking at the poster, she said, "Oh, we addressed that poster while you were out of the room; you need to have all seventy of those school supply items before the end of next week, when there will be a quiz to check if you have brought them." With satisfaction, she added, "The students all wrote the list of items down in their notebooks."

She smiled evilly at my blank desk and turned back to the blackboard, where she had worked out some complex formula for the class that I couldn't comprehend. Not wanting to provoke her to attack me again by asking someone nearby to borrow their notes, I tried to pay attention and remember every detail; however, I was extremely tired, and I fell asleep on the desk, in the dream. I woke up to, "Ms. Witt! Detention! I've had enough of your attitude without having you sleep through my class!"

Feeling thoroughly miserable, I stayed behind in her class as I watched the rest of the students file out the door at the end of the period. I remember feeling vaguely sad, knowing that the rest of the teachers would probably hate me as well for not being present in their first class due to the fact that I was in detention on the first day of school. It's all part of the same rule, that first impressions make all the difference, and though teachers aren't supposed to have favorites, it's still good to try extra-hard to get them to like you. Anyways, after thinking this, I woke up and felt very tired from having such a stressful dream.