Dears,

What are my dreams trying to tell me? I’ve had nightmares since I was kid, a young kid. More nights than not. So here’s last night’s episode:

Allan called me to say that he’d given me a bracelet and I could go to the jewelry store and get it. I arrive at the store and they gave me the bracelet without a box. I asked for the box and they said they couldn’t give it to me yet. The box was needed for inventory. I shrugged and accepted their explanation.

Then I got home and decided that I really wanted the box. I called them back and they said, “no, you can’t have the box.”

I went back to the store a few days later and saw some men working in the back room with dozens or hundreds of the boxes for my bracelet. I asked them if I could have one, and they said, “No. How do we know you even got your bracelet here?”

I went inside the jewelry store and asked them if I could please have the box that I deserved. I showed them my bracelet and begged and even yelled a little.

Finally, the manager came out with a bag with a box in it.

“Here you go,” he said.

I got home and opened the box and yes, my bracelet box was inside that box, but so was a lot of composted veggies. They had filled the big box with their garbage to send me a message of how irritated they were with my insistence about needing my bracelet’s box.

I took pictures of the garbage filled box and sent them to Allan. Next thing I knew, the jewelry store manager called me to ask if I could come for an emergency meeting. I arrived to a gathering of all the staff who were ready and willing to apologize to me in an effort to stave off a lawsuit that apparently Allan was putting in motion. But they never actually said anything and slowly the group dissipated.

I was left sitting alone in the backroom with the lights off.

My subconscious must be irritated by something. But what? Is it all the “no’s” I’ve heard recently for things to which I feel entitled? Why did I want that box so much? Because it completes the gift? Do I feel incomplete?

Sometimes a box is just box. And without one you are free to think more openly. Perhaps my mind knows no bounds, and would like–for once–just to rest in a bed of compost.

Love,

Nancy