Total pages in book: 93
Estimated words: 90503 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 453(@200wpm)___ 362(@250wpm)___ 302(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 90503 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 453(@200wpm)___ 362(@250wpm)___ 302(@300wpm)
Slithering through the crowd along the dark wood floor, it’s heading straight for me.
Panicked, I start running for the door at the end of the room, but my progress is hampered because I’m carrying a clock in my arms, the old-fashioned kind that used to sit on top of my grandparents’ piano. It’s ticking loudly.
Eventually, I reach the door but discover there is no handle. And it won’t budge.
The clock ticks faster and faster. I look down and notice the second hand is moving backward. It’s counting down, like a stopwatch.
I bang on the door, too scared to turn around and see how close the snake is.
It hisses behind me, and then—
I sat up in bed, gasping for air and damp with sweat, the sheets tangled around my legs. My heart was thundering in my chest. Sliding out of bed, I went over to the window. It was open, and a soft summer breeze blew through the screen, cooling my arms and chest. Taking a few deep breaths, I listened to the chirp of the crickets and inhaled deeply—fresh cut grass, the Forget-Me-Nots blooming in the window box, the lingering whiff of charcoal from someone’s backyard grill. I centered myself in the moment and focused on the way the air felt moving in and out of my lungs. Within a few minutes, my pulse had slowed and the trembling in my limbs ceased, but I couldn’t shake the anxious residue the dream had left behind.
It had to mean something, so what the hell was it?
Giving up on sleep for the time being, I left my bedroom, which was at the back of my ground-floor flat, and walked through the dark to the front. After making sure the curtains were closed, since I wore only a tank top and undies, I switched on a lamp. My laptop was sitting on the coffee table where I’d left it, and I scooped it up. I’d meant what I said to Emme earlier—normally, I didn’t believe the Internet could enlighten people about their own minds—but at this point, I was desperate for a clue.
Settling cross-legged on the couch, I set it in my lap, opened it up, and typed “dreams about snakes” into the search box.
The results, as I had expected, were all over the place.
Freud (of course) viewed the snake as a phallic symbol. Since there was a distinct lack of phalli in my life, I didn’t really see how that would make sense, unless my subconscious was bemoaning that lack. If that was the case, my subconscious could line up right behind the rest of me. I hadn’t had sex in two years.
The Dream Maven posited that a snake could represent something that tempted you, possibly something you felt guilty about. Well, damn, that could be any number of things.
Vodka, leather shoes, frosted strawberry Pop-Tarts, gay porn. The list seemed endless. But ninety-nine percent of the time, I didn’t indulge in those things, so I didn’t really think it was one of them. (Except for maybe the gay porn thing. That had real possibilities.)
According to another site, running away from a snake that’s chasing you might symbolize someone or something you’re afraid to face. Again, I couldn’t really think of anything I feared. Of course, I had questions about life—was I on the right path? Would I ever find love again? Did I have a higher purpose? But those weren’t exactly fears.
Occasionally, I struggled with feeling like I had given up my ballet career too soon and missed the feeling that performing in front of an audience gave me. But I’d taught myself to find validation from within, and the truth was, I hadn’t liked living in New York City at all. I had left my apprenticeship with the American Ballet Theater after just one year.
But I didn’t think that was it, either. When I searched my soul, I felt no regret about leaving the ballet world, with its constant pressures, strict hierarchy and intense competition. It wasn’t for me. I much preferred the inner peace and harmony I got from yoga, and running a successful studio afforded me a good enough income to live on my own, travel a little, and treat myself to the occasional luxury. I was happy. Healthy. Balanced. Fulfilled.
At least, I had been before the nightmares. Now I was exhausted, irritable, off-kilter, and full of doubt. Was the universe trying to warn me about something?
I googled a few more things—being naked in a dream (did I feel vulnerable? Had I been caught off guard?), the clock in my hands (was I concerned about time running out?), the locked door (did I feel confined by something?)—but felt no closer to decoding my psyche than I had before. With a frustrated sigh, I closed my laptop and set it aside. It wasn’t helping. What I needed was some deeper self-reflection.