Missed Connection

Missed flights. Make sure that the day of your flight, you set a few alarms, call the airline, and get to the airport in time to get through security. Missed flights are an expensive hassle.

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This time I missed the bus. It was going to be a long bus ride—maybe 6 to 10 hours. Not sure where I was going. Bizarre obstacles would impede my forward motion, and eventually I would go home with friendly people I had recently met, hoping not to miss the next bus which would depart in the wee hours of the morning.

This is my recurring dream—a missed connection. The night before I dreamed I missed a flight—deliberately sabotaged myself by leaving home 5 minutes prior to scheduled takeoff.

In another dream, I was going to a faraway land—another continent—and it was imperative that I catch this particular plane because it only departed once a day. My dad helped me pack a heavy steamer trunk and drove me to the airport. While riding the escalator which seemed to go on for an eternity, I noticed my luggage was missing. I had left it at home. I missed this very important flight. I was crestfallen, but somehow, not surprised—as if I expected to fail. It felt like a failure.

The missed connection dream used to occur once a week or so; now it’s been 2 days in a row. What does this mean? Google is always available to counsel me on such matters.

Psychiclibrary.com says this is a very common dream due to the fact that “the majority of us are under such stress to manage our time and multitask our waking lives.”

Interpretations (according to pyschiclibrary):

(1)        a sign of ambivalence, that you are waffling or having difficulty making decisions about new opportunities;

(2)        you may feel unsupported in accomplishing your immediate goals;

(3)        you may feel confused about making solid decisions for your future;

(4)        you could be feeling time is running out for making solid plans, or you will be unable to make all the appointments on your calendar;

(5)        may be indicative of profound and deeply rooted regret and sadness about a missed opportunity or decision not made;

(6)        may indicate you resent an individual who has influence over you at work or in your personal relationships;

(7)        you are over-worked or having anxiety about deadlines.

Whew! I have plenty to digest and mull over.

My husband and I have been making plans for the next chapter of our lives, and I admit to feeling overworked and anxious. I do feel pressed for time with a busy work day and a 1 ½ to 2 hour commute each way. More than I care to admit, I feel like I’ve been missing out on LIFE—the important things—as if it’s been rushing past me and I can’t grab hold of it, and it will slip away before I’ve accomplished anything of worth.

All I can do for the moment, while sitting on the NJ Transit bus at 8:52 a.m., knowing I’ll be late for work again, is try to stay positive and breathe.

Jesus in the Eye Clinic

In the waiting room at the ophthalmologist’s office, an elderly gentleman in a suit and tie handed me a pamphlet.

“Would you like this?” he asked, gently.

The cover showed a hand extending out to another hand and the text read, “When will the suffering end?”

“No thank you,” I said. He slowly pulled the pamphlet away.

He and his wife, dressed conservatively in a sweater and long skirt and sensible shoes, mumbled something to each other and looked away.

Proselytizing in the doctor’s office? I’ve never encountered this before. Granted, he was demure and soft-sell. Still, I found it bizarre.

Perhaps I struck him as ungodly because of the color of my nails.

blue nails

The shade is “Sapphires in the Snow,” by OPI. I had a manicure yesterday, was in a Goth kind of mood.

The old man doesn’t know anything about me: that I was a devout Catholic up until my teens, that I even considered being a nun for all of third grade, that I read a thick book about the lives of the saints. Besides, it’s none of his business.

Was it because I was texting my husband? Does that a heathen make? I was a bit nervous about the eye appointment.

Then I realized he might not be proselytizing for Jesus at all. Perhaps he and his wife are Kevorkian-ites, advocating assisted suicide. Now I can get behind that. “When will the suffering end” could refer to euthanasia as well.

Maybe he thought I was going blind and that my life was no longer of value. Or was that what I was thinking and being an Empath, he picked up on my thoughts? Then the doctor called out a name, and he and his wife exited the waiting room and followed the doctor.

Anyway, I’m not going blind, but I have had floaters for the past two weeks along with dizziness and headaches, and thought it best to have it checked out. No retinal tears, no detached retina—all good.

I’m feeling a bit sensitive, and starting to wonder what was inside the pamphlet the elderly man wanted me to read.

Leaving the clinic, the sun blinded me—pupils dilated—and I had to shield my eyes while crossing the street. It made me feel vulnerable. What would it feel like to be blind, to need a seeing eye dog? Without contact lenses or glasses, the world is a fog to me. All smudged borders and indistinguishable faces. Keith Haring-esque.

What is my purpose? It felt unclear as I continued the journey east towards my office, shielding my eyes, squinting to see.