The Naked and The Dread

Okay, so where did this one come from?

I had another one of my 20-megaton, head-banging nightmares last week and I’m still wandering what the hell brought it on.

This was one of those horrific hallucinations where, when I finally do wake up, I look straight up to the heavens and thank God that it was only a dream.

I haven’t one of these beauties in years, so I guess I was overdue. And my mind made sure to make up for all that lost time.

Okay, so this freak show starts off with real bang—right below the belt.

I had …shall we say…an accident where I had to pull off my jeans and throw them into the trash. Yeah, that kind of an accident.

Now that little disaster alone would seem like plenty of material for a Grade A nightmare. Demolishing your drawers in public is certainly my idea of a really bad dream.

But, no, it turned out my sadistic subconscious was just starting up this spook house ride.

For some reason, I had a meeting in downtown Manhattan with a guy I knew in college back in the 1970s.

He was one of the people that my younger self had considered a friend, but, who, in fact, was a flaming douchebag.

There was no pandemic in this dream world since no one was wearing a mask, though I could’ve used one at that moment. Along with a new pair of pants.

Now I have been thinking about writing a play that features a character based on this dope, so maybe that’s why he appeared in my dream.

But I hadn’t thought about that project—or that guy—recently. Yet here he is, walking into my life just when I’m at my worst.

We were apparently supposed to go to a movie or dinner or some damn thing and I was trying to get out of it because, well, I had no freaking pants.

This didn’t bother my former classmate as he kept asking why I wanted to go home. I told you he was a douchebag.

Raw Nerves

Anyway, I finally broke away from this loser and the next thing I know I’m the subway heading back to Brooklyn.

Oh, yeah, and I’m naked.

I might have been holding onto this ancient green windbreaker that I’ve been meaning to throw out since the Bush Administration, but that was it. I have no idea where I was carrying my Metrocard.

None of the other passengers seemed to have objections to my ensemble, or lack of it, but then they were New Yorkers who are not fazed by anything and who, of course, never make eye contact on the subway.

Could this possibly get any worse? Funny you should ask because the train doors suddenly opened and a bunch of rowdy school kids got on board.

They were horsing around with each other but I knew that any second they would turn around and see me in my emperor’s new clothes and mock the screaming beejesus out of me.

These were kids, they don’t hold back anything, and they were about to humiliate me without mercy and post the whole episode on YouTube.

Where’s a blackout when you need one?

And then I woke up.

I’ve read that the coronavirus shutdown has caused all sorts of emotional problems, including vivid dreams.

But I’ve been having these nightmares long before Covid-19 showed up to ruin our lives. Several years ago I had a dream where I was riding on the train in my pajamas. But as least I was wearing something.

Appearing naked in a dream can be a sign of vulnerability, dream analysts say, or that you feel some aspect of you has been exposed to ridicule or disgrace.

It can also be a sign that you’re moving into uncharted territory.

Doctors are asking people to hunker down for the winter and there are some harsh predictions about what the next few months will be like. It sounds like we’re all heading into uncharted territory.

As much as I hate it, I will continue to remain as isolated as possible.

And I’m staying off the damn subway.