Oh, please don't tell us your dream . . .

I am hoping Buzzfloyd will read this and send me the text of her poem (a villanelle, I think) Oh, please don’t tell us your dream, because it is very hilarious, I have lost it, and what I am about to tell you immediately brings it to mind (if she does, I'll add it on to the post).

All my life (since I attended school) I have had a recurring type of dream.

In the dream I have some kind of school obligation looming that I cannot fulfil.  Sometimes I arrive at a new college and have to attend a seminar (or, more usually, an exam), but I do not know the building and cannot find the way and get more are more miserable, panicky and despairing.

Sometimes the dream is that I have an exam coming up (usually that day, and I am going into college to sit the exam) for which I haven’t prepared whatsoever and simply don’t have the necessary knowledge to tackle it.

Sometimes I dream my coursework has to be handed in and I haven’t done it.

These dreams sufficiently resemble my actual experience of real school to be very compelling.  In them I am always wretched and terrified, feeling doomed and trapped and not knowing where to turn.

But the last two times I dreamt along these lines, a sea change has manifested.

The time before last, I dreamt I had to go into college for something completely beyond me, I can’t remember whether an exam or a tutorial or what, but it was too difficult and too much, completely beyond me and I had not the wherewithal to fulfil the requirements.  But this time, instead of panicking and feeling frightened and trapped, I just made a decision: “I think I’ll drop this course.”  And I did. 

Last night again I dreamed that I was at school; and began to feel uneasy that I had done no maths work at all that academic year – had no maths tuition or assignments.  I began to suspect that something was wrong or had been overlooked.  I felt concerned that when a maths lesson did come up I would be unprepared and out of my depth.  I began to wonder if “They” had elected to group all the sciences together so this term would be all arts and next term would be the sciences, more difficult for me and too much to manage.  The usual anxieties began, but this time I made a decision: “I think I’ll drop maths”.  A counter-argument began, that They wouldn’t let me, that without maths I’d be sunk, that maths was essential.  “Yes,” I thought: “but I think I’ll drop it anyway.”  And after that I felt fine.

It seems I finally feel free to decide for myself.

One day, maybe I’ll dream I’ve graduated; but by then I’ll be very old perhaps.


OK, here we go, this is Buzzfloyd's poem - she reminds me that it is in fact a rondeau redoublé, which poetic form you can read about here.

Rondeau redoublé – An Anecdote Unwanted

Please don’t tell us your dream.

As you bend my poor ear,

I’m trying not to scream.

Nobody wants to hear!

I wonder why I’m here,

Watching you fondly beam.

We could be stuck here all year –

Please don’t tell us your dream.

As you warm to your theme,

You then shift down a gear,

Detailing every scheme

As you bend my poor ear.

Please let the end be near!

I see how your eyes gleam

While mine threaten a tear;

I’m trying not to scream.

Did this, at some point, seem

Relevant – the point clear?

This is a mutant meme

Nobody wants to hear.

Please don’t tell.

----------------------------------------------------- 

365 366 Day 63 March 3^rd    

(if you don’t know what I’m talking about, see here) 

 Oh, these are good!  Two work boxes.  Why did I have two?  Well, I ordered one at a very good price in a sale, and the firm who sells them sent it off to me to my previous address way up country miles away in Aylesbury (they had the new address and it appeared on the invoice, but Bill hadn’t spoken to Charlie or something and the despatch guys got it wrong).  They said they’d send me a replacement, which they did.  Meanwhile my champion friend Rosanna who lives in Aylesbury said she’d go and enquire at my old address if perchance they had the parcel and had not yet returned it: which turned out to be the case. Not sure what to do as I had two now (though it would be honest to say I had both, it does not always help large organisations if you mess up their systems with unhelpful honesty), I opened the Aylesbury parcel when it came, only to discover that the workbox had been shoddily put together and was not fit for sale anyway.  If I sent it back I’d have to pay postage and point out that it was in effect broken and they’d have to bin it (and probably get confused and send me another).  So since it was their error in the first place, I just kept it and the Badger took it to bits and fixed it.

These workboxes went to a friend who teaches Godly Play and is also a Colour Consultant – both occupations generating a lot of bits and pieces urgently needing storage!