The other night I dreamed that I was working with some terribly corrosive acid for work, and burned off a portion of my pinky, ring, and middle fingers on my left hand. I was so upset by the accident. Tried to chew out my boss because she shouldn’t have let us work with such dangerous materials. She laughed at me. I threw a ferocious tantrum. In waking life, I realize that my dream hand was left with similar function to my dad’s after his accident last month.
When I calmed down in the dream, I was surrounded by friends (none recognizable in waking life). I said, sadly, “have you ever been awful and childish and terrible to everyone in your life and everyone you love?”
One of the friends, tall and shy, laughed gently, said, “of course.
“But I have like six bongs inside of me, and every time I get stressed, I just take a hit.”