So I had this dream right before I woke myself up (because yeah, I woke myself up to get out of the dream. It’s like a superpower).
I was at either a bat mitzvah or a wedding in a shul, and I was sitting in the audience — it looked like this mashup between a chapel and an auditorium. I knew I was going to be called up to the stage (the “bema”) to read section 11, which was in English. When it was time for my group to go up, I got to the steps that led up to the bema. Two of them, no problem. But the third and final step was massive, too big for me to step up in my heels. Someone had to help me climb up.
Even though I knew it was section 11, I couldn’t find it in my book. I flipped through it, and finally had to see where everyone else was for me to actually find section 11. And when I tried to read it, the English was written backwards, like it was in a mirror. I barely made it through the first sentence (which began “There was…”), which was almost impossible because it was such a headache to read, and I couldn’t understand why the part I was responsible for was suddenly backwards, and no one else’s seemed to be. I tried reading it again, but it was still backwards. And that’s when I woke myself up, because no one likes to read stuff they want to throw against a wall.
I think it has to do with second-guessing myself. Reading is an activity I thoroughly enjoy, and in my dream I suddenly could no longer read enjoyably. So now part of my brain is telling me how much I suck at something I love. It’s an evil part of my brain. It’s the same part that tells me that what I’m writing sucks. I need to turn that part of my brain into roadkill. (Quick, name the movie: “Look, Ma — I’m roadkill!”)