Off to Dreamland I Go

Saturday night, I had a dream. In this dream, I was cleaning my closet. This is not a particularly exciting thing to be doing in a dream, but I’ve found that my “z” time is typically populated by two extremes:  the horribly mundane, I-can’t-believe-I’m-actually-dreaming-about-this dreams and the ultra surreal, impossibly colored, absolutely terrifying nightmares. Given the choice, I happily accept the “cleaning the closet” dream over the alternative.

So, back to the closet. My side of the closet is always needing to be reorganized. I start strong, with clothes arranged by type and color, hangers evenly spaced. In a few short days, however, clean but rejected items litter the floor, shoes are unaccounted for, and all the stuff that comes out of the dryer but I’m too lazy to hang up gets piled on top of my “running clothes” shelf. Scott’s side of the closet, of course, never has this problem. He has a much, much lower tendency for sloth than I.

Dream Megan was completely absorbed in the happy task of bringing order to chaos. It was only when the floor was once more visible that she/I looked up and saw, in the space reserved for work clothes, a parade of running wear from the distant past. For example…the fluorescent orange shorts (Actually ntended to be a swim suit cover-up, but whatever. They were cute!) from the Limited Too that I wore the one summer I had a better tan than my friend D (I only remember that because I was wearing them out for a run when I saw her and she said, “holy cow! You’re actually tan!” I had a babysitting gig that meant I spent 5 days a week at the pool all summer long.). The adidas shorts I ordered online without realizing that they were THE SHORTEST SHORTS IN THE UNIVERSE. The ratty old tee-shirt-converted-to-tank-top from junior high volleyball that I finally turned into a dust rag last year. Yes, even the buns and shimmell from my college racing days…all were there, and all seemed to be surveying me sadly.

My interpretation? Let’s see here…marathon training begins in 5 weeks. The ghosts of running past have called me out…it’s time to get to work.

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