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Monday April 13, 2020
I’ve been hearing people on the radio talk about Covid related dreams, which are apparently
quite common. One radio host shared her dream from the night before—something I am not sure I have heard a news commentator do. It was about breaking into a coworker’s home in the middle of the night and stealing dozens of rolls of toilet paper, then lugging them home in a bed sheet.
Last night I had a Covid dream. Mine was fairly simple—at least, to describe. There were four of us, and I believe we all had the virus. Somehow it was understood that only two of us would make it through, and it seemed to be up to us to decide who would and would not survive. I awoke disturbed, but in the dream it seemed that everything would work out, which did not place me into either group, more that all would simply play its course.
We have all heard analogies comparing this pandemic to wartime; I am sure they are appropriate in many ways. But this is not like other battles we have read about or seen in movies. Everyone in the hospitals now has the same ailment, and there is no real treatment for it. Doctors are not trained for these conditions. And the government is certainly not as prepared as they would be for a war.
The rain is so easy to hear; it’s almost as though I have a tin roof.
I sense hope mixed with death, confusion, and impatience, as this week begins.