I had a dream the other day and it's a recurring dream, and it fascinates me because it's the most uninteresting dream ever but it's the only one I have that's regularly recurring. I almost never remember my dreams at all, which is likely a side effect of being so chronically sleep deprived that I fall asleep instantly every night.
When I was pregnant with G I had a few vivid dreams that are allegedly common to pregnancy. The one I remember most vividly was when we already knew that G was a boy, but in my dream I was going to my first sonogram. The sonographer did the gooey belly thing and then showed us an image of five swirly shells neatly standing in a row. There were quintuplet snails growing inside me. "Congratulations!" he said. "You're having mollusks!"
Strange, right? Memorable. And then there's my one recurring dream, pathetic in its mundanity:
We're seated at an L-shaped table. I'm with maybe a dozen people, and I'm comfortable with all of them, but I don't identify who they are. The waiter brings out bowls and bowls of salad and breadsticks, and it turns out we're at Olive Garden.
In real life, I don't even like Olive Garden. I mean, there's nothing wrong with minestrone and garlic breadsticks; sometimes you need those things. But you know you will leave with a stomachache (stummyache, L would say, whose etymology has Latin roots in the conjugation of "stomach" + "tummy") and the service is slow and the food's not really that good, is it? You know these thing and I know these things but over time, you forget, and six months later you find yourself there, agreeing to yes another basket of breadsticks.
The waiter looks like an '80s Donny Osmond, who's so not my type. But then again, neither is Olive Garden, and yet that's the sum total of my recurring dream. Donny Osmond brings me stummyaching fluffy breadsticks. Not very exciting, is it?
True confession: is is a little exciting, as I look at a week of matzah in front of me. Happy Passover!