The kind of wishing of my heart

As I mentioned in Logan's like-minded post, my dreams have taken a turn to consumerist existentialism.

Instead of pushing a rock up a hill, I'm getting lost and turned around inside of an overcrowded store.

It's a grand opening, and the music is too loud and the lights too bright and we have too little time because Rachel has to go to work. I get lost inside and separated from Rachel. I struggle to get outside—knowing that she's probably already left—only to discover a blizzard that is so heavy, cold and wet that I can't see. My cell phone isn't working, so I have no choice but to take refuge in the store and wait for Rachel to return after her day-long shift.

Or I'm trying, hopelessly, to direct David to his parked car. In that dream logic, David is both driving me around in his car and we are trying to find where I parked his car. I can't remember exactly where I parked it, but I know the general location. But I can't see very clearly and David won't listen to any of my directions or, when he does, we don't end up where we should. We endlessly traverse a labyrinth of suburban sprawl and an unnamed university that is inexplicably designed in a tangle of neverending circles without a clear center (an oddly apropos metaphor).

Somewhere along the line, I stopped worrying about showing up to school without studying for the test or forgetting I was fired and showing up to work anyway.

Now, my subconscious is much more bothered by the idea that I could be trapped in everyday life without the agency to solve a problem or change a situation.

Hell, apparently, is an eternity in Best Buy where my eyes are barely functioning and the manager won't allow me to exchange my defective copy of Halo: Reach.