Dreams are Weird

I'm in prison.  Sitting on top of a cafeteria-style table, in a room with other women, all wearing the same jumpsuit as me.  You'd think I'd feel anxious, but I don't because I have my childhood best friend sitting next to me.  I don't even know what I'm doing time for, but I know that I'll be here for four months.  Less for good behavior.  Thinking of four months kind of like a semester at college instead of missing my family like crazy. Just push through and though the days will feel long, four months will go by quickly.

Oh dreams....There are times that whatever I was watching on TV invades my subconscious, but I haven't been watching Orange is the New Black or anything.  The night before I dreamt that we sold our old house to Brian's aunt and uncle in New Jersey.  They flipped it from this tiny cottage to a gorgeous home and then rent it out, but not before giving us a tour.  It was quite vibrant, like I was really there!  

But the absolute worst is the stress dreams.  I've had a repetitive one since college:  I'm working at McDonald's.  I'm making burgers in the back, I'm taking orders up front and I'm running the drive-thru and I'm all alone.  And then three buses pull in and everyone wants burgers and fries and they want them NOW.  When I wake up from that one, with my heart pounding, it's an instant sign that I've taken on too much and need to dial it back.  Oh, you crazy, all-knowing subconscious!