My Mouth is an Ocean

This dream was a peculiar mix of emotions for me, but it was particularly stressful for three main reasons. First, I am a soprano vocalist and anything at all that messes with my ENT situation does not fly, (that’s Ear/ Nose/ Throat). Secondly, I have a completely irrational fear of having any sort of foreign body cutting into my very familiar body, the idea of metallic poking around is simply frightening. Third, every time I have been put under, it has been a struggle to get me to wake up again post-op, and anesthetics make me horribly sick. Alright, with that out of the way, It’s time for the dream.


I was scheduled to have surgery on my mouth, but there was a mix-up at the hospital. Nurses kept ushering me from one room to another, barely giving me a chance to sit on the papered recliners before shooing me elsewhere. They kept offering to give me a mild anesthetic, (and sometimes dosing me on the sly), which I continually tried to refuse, though they insisted it would calm me down. My friends were in the hospital with me, and they were playing some kind of very complex word game, which I was straining through my foggy brain to participate in, but failing to grasp the point of.


Quite awkwardly, and uncharacteristically, my dream-scape shifted to me, alone, walking on the beach at sunset. I looked behind me and saw not only two sets of footprints, but that really cheesy inspirational text about God carrying you during the hard times printed along side it. I was literally walking through a clichĂ©. For a moment, I could hear my friends, still back at the hospital, whispering about me incoherently, but it faded almost immediately. I was left listening to the sounds of the ocean, but they weren’t organic, more like those tape-recordings of waves that help insomniacs turn-in.


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