Thursday, June 24, 2010

Guest Dreamer: Mega Millions


Jung described a category of dreaming which he called active imagination;  when I was a child looking out the window during class it went by the more plebeian daydreaming. He thinks this sort of dreaming is equivalent to sleeping dreams, and The Red Book features many.  Morag offers us this delightful example, which needs no interpretation.

The Dream:
The radio alarm clicks on to NPR.  It’s five a.m. and as usual they tell me the temperature for the rest of the day.  I’ve tried to set the alarm ten seconds earlier so that it will tell me what the temperature is now, this minute.  For some reason it doesn’t work.

The news is still mostly about the dreadful conditions in Haiti and it makes me wish I could give more than the ten dollars I can text over with my cell phone. I give regularly to “Doctors without Borders” and I have a “Plan Child” in Africa but I’m severely limited financially beyond that.  Still… then I remember… I won the Mega Lottery!  I can give a million dollars to Haiti if I want, though that may be a little excessive.  I’ve read that one must keep a low profile if one wins the lottery or be driven crazy by begging organizations.  Perhaps a hundred thousand would be more suitable for now.


I get out of bed and make a cup of tea and take two Excedrin for my painful joints.  “Hey, we can afford a two- bedroom apartment and sleep in help who’ll bring me tea and aspirins in bed,” I say to Thomas, my rescue Chihuahua who is still under the blankets with just his nose and eyes peering out at me.  I climb back into bed beside him to finish the tea and plan my day and… my new life.

I could be modest and stay where I am, and just ask to be given a one-bedroom apartment, but I probably wouldn’t be allowed to remain once they find out I’ve become a millionaire, as they surely will.  In low income housing for the elderly they know everything about you.

I would like to get out of this tiny studio with its minute kitchen and bathroom, all 320 square foot of it.  A more spacious bathroom would be wonderful I think, as I bang my elbow on the door which has to be opened wide when I use the loo or get in the shower and closed partially when I wash my face or brush my teeth at the mirror.  Then closed completely when I dress.

Back in my living, sleeping, writing, dining room I finish dressing ready to go out with Thomas.  I check my pockets, keys, dog biscuits, poop bags oh, and fifty cents for the Post.  My favorite paper for checking the lottery and reading my horoscope, nothing else.  I don’t really like to give a lottery ticket to the newsagent man to check, especially not a winning one.  To hear his machine play “You’re in the Money” and have him and the people around know that I’m a millionaire is the last thing I need.  I want to quietly check the ticket at home,  then send it off and let them confirm by mail that I’ve won, and how much will be left after taxes.

I won’t even let Steve, my son, know right away, I decide.  He’ll inevitably tell Jane.  Husbands always tell their wives, they can’t help it, and I know them, they’ll be busy spending it before the check arrives, and the entire Johnson family will know.  Jane will probably announce it on her Facebook.

The one person I will tell is George, my tax man, if he hasn’t retired, he’s my age, seventy five.  I’ll have to find out who he has designated to take his place for the future, even if he hasn’t retired.

I start to plan what I’ll do first as we head outdoors.  I need to put a fair amount aside for my really old age.  Enough that I won’t ever have to worry again.  Not that I want to live forever but it would be nice to be as comfortable as possible while I experience the last act.  Of course, I will make sure my grandchildren have enough for whatever they need for their education and I’ll certainly give Steve sufficient to get them all in good financial shape.  Plus I’ll give them a lump sum for an extension to the house or whatever they want immediately. 

We enter Central Park, Thomas doing his little deer leaps in his rush to be in there and off leash.

I’m deep in my head planning my future.  Where should I live?  Since we moved to the West side and Thomas discovered Central Park he’s been so happy that it would be cruel to move back to East End Avenue; even though I still have friends there.  Perhaps upper Fifth Avenue would be best, across from the East Side of the Park and close to my hospital of choice, Mount Sinai.  One of the old fashioned buildings between Eighty Six and Ninety Six Street would be perfect!
I’ll have to decide whether to get my furniture back from Steve and Jane; the stuff they are using, or just what is in the attic.  It doesn’t make sense to buy more furniture than I have, but I can decide that later.

I need an assistant who drives; then Steve won’t have to be concerned about getting me back and forward to Westchester, now that I no longer drive myself and have trouble with the steep steps down to the trains at Penn Station.  I suspect I will be invited there more often now.

Wouldn’t it be fun to take them all home to Scotland for a holiday; persuade Steve to take a decent vacation for once and take Jimmy climbing around the hillsides that I climbed when I was eight like him and living with my grandparents during World War II.
My brain buzzes along.  I will be able to get my teeth fixed.  Am I too old for another face lift?  Well at least I can afford to get my wrinkles Botoxed or whatever, and get my warts removed.  We head back from the park and I pick up the Post along the way.  Crossing Columbus Avenue a niggling thought enters my brain.  Where did I put the ticket when I bought it?  As we enter our building and take the elevator up to the fifth floor the thought is still bugging me.  I open the door and automatically grab Thomas to wipe his feet before he rushes over to the bed and jumps on it.

I ask myself where I bought the ticket last night.  Gradually I realize, Omigod!  I didn’t buy a ticket yesterday.  In fact I usually don’t buy Mega, Lotto is my vice. I can’t help laughing at myself.  It was another of my waking dreams, I haven’t had one for a while, and this is the first time I have dressed fully and walked my dog while under the influence. I wonder if this is normal old age behavior!  Oh well, it would have been nice to have enough money for the rest of my life, but even in my happy imaginings I could begin to visualize problems.

At some point during the day I realize that last night wasn’t even Mega night.  So I buy five dollars of tickets for tonight, Tuesday.  Just in case.

5 comments:

Anonymous said...

This is Morag. Thanks for posting

It's a good thing I didn't walk the dog in my nightgown that morning or get us run over heading for Central Park.

Carla Young said...

Morag, Thanks for sharing your very entertaining dream.Its being NYC, do you think anyone would have noticed the nightgown?

Karen H. said...

Wow, what a wonderful dream! There is such richness, and possibility in it. Who is to say that dreams are not precursors to reality, in one form or another? Morag, you rock!

... and Thomas, you da Man!

Anonymous said...

Dear Granny,

I don't usually check this email. It sounds like it was an interesting dream. I can't say that I have many waking dreams, well, any, as far as I can remember, and none of my dreams at all are ever that logical, haha.



-Alex

Carla Young said...

Hi Alex, I hope your Granny inspires you to start remembering your dreams. It's fun!

Regards, Carla

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