Last night I worked for a writing client, covering an event they were holding. I had a great time, but it must have brought back memories of my old job. I dreamed that a man who used to work for me was now a dentist. He had set up an open-air consultorio in a field off a rutted road. I fought the steering wheel and nearly rolled down an embankment but managed to pull my car into his lot. Told him I needed some dental work. There was a row of rusted chrome-and-vinyl reclining chairs with lifts that were more like those of an auto shop than a clinic. He had me lie back in one of them and raised me up six feet off the ground. Time hicupped and he appeared at my shoulder with a hypodermic and began injecting me in my bicep.

“What’s that?” I asked. “Oh, just something to make everything a little foggy,” he said.

I was concerned. At this point I began looking around at the other patients, as there were a few in the scattered chairs who were also being worked on. I began exploring the corners of my mind, trying to see if in fact it was getting foggy or not. “Good thing I’m mentally strong,” I thought. If needed I could fight off this drug. Suddenly a nitrous oxide mask was placed over my face, only it was delivering pot smoke. It was going to be hard to remain clear-headed…

At this point, thankfully, I woke up. I told my 11-year-old my dream this morning as we were driving to school. “Grownups have really strange dreams,” he said. “I don’t dream. I know it would make me smarter if I did, but I can’t take the nightmares.”