A little oneirology for Thursday.

Studying your own dreams can be an interesting window into your current mental state. Most adults dream about two hours EVERY NIGHT of their lives – but most adults are also highly unlikely to remember more than one or two of their dreams.
When I was younger, single, and had more time on my hands, I kept a dream journal for six months. As soon as I woke up every morning, I would write down all the dreams I could remember. Initially, only one or two were clear, but as I began this habit, I started to remember more and more details, and then more and more actual dreams, until I could record up to seven dreams from a single night.
I was disappointed to note that there were no real patterns. Most of my dreams were fairly unexciting, and seemed to be more of a rehash of the day’s or week’s events, than any specific message from my subconscious.
Except for the Anxiety Dreams. I had read that people often have a particular recurring dream during times of heightened stress. The common examples are appearing naked in public, being chased, not being able to move, and the classic, turing up for an exam without having studied (I didn’t need to dream that one – it actually happened my first year of university. It was stressful. And I failed.). However, none of these was my Anxiety Dream of choice at the time I’m talking about (ten years ago now).
No, my AD was about toilets. A severe need to pee, and nowhere to do it, or else the toilet was up a tree, or in a vast maze of cubicles, mostly occupied, or mostly filthy, or mostly with a large audience. Whenever I found myself recording a toilet dream, it was a sign for me to examine more closely what was happening during waking hours.
I no longer have the time or the inclination to record all my dreams, but I have noticed over the last year that the nature of my AD has changed. In anxious moments, the location of terror is now an airport. I need to catch a connecting flight. I have too much luggage. I can’t find the gate. I have to go from one terminal to another, but can’t find the way. There are too many escalators, mainly going in the wrong direction. And last night, I was in a country between Italy and New Zealand (maybe Singapore, maybe Bangkok), and they had told us to wait in a garden. Where a smiling flight attendant gave me a suitcase, and told me to hurry to Gate [unintelligible], which was over there [vague gesture]…up and down escalators, have to validate boarding pass, have to go through a long corridor which is also a luxury hotel (picture walking along side many cubicles, each with a fancy bed and delicious linen). At the end is a staircase, very crowded, and my Australian aunt is there, but she isn’t going where I am going. She knows where I need to go, though, and starts to give me directions, while we are both being jostled by the crowd. In the background, at all times, is a large red clock, ticking loudly, counting down how much time I have left...
As it approaches 0:00 I am thankfully wakened by my son yelling “Muuuuuummmmmmmmyyyyyy.”
If I visit another airport tonight, I’m getting help.