My psyche decided to take revenge on me in the early hours of the morning for my claim yesterday that I'm hardly bothered at all these days about forgetting things. At least that's my less than deep interpretation of a dream I had about having to take a Literature exam when I hadn't read any of the books. (I have a remarkable talent for generating very boring dreams.)
Quite remarkably considering my line of work, this is the first time I've ever had such a dream. Previously my anxiety dreams have comprised two distinct types: those in which I'm watching a play and suddenly realise I'm supposed to have directed it but don't have a clue what's going to happen next; and those in which I find myself at a lecture on some kind of degree course at some kind of college and realise I haven't completed any of the research for the thesis I'm supposed to write, or the coursework for the previous year. Curiously I haven't suffered one of these old favourites for a long, long time.
The thought that I might be haunted in old age by dreams of not coping with exams is a bit daunting, but curiously amusing also. At least I get to enjoy the relief when I wake up.
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