I was in a small town. I'd moved there for a job, a newspaper job. I'd already started the job, writing, um, a movie review, which would be a wrong detail. A small newspaper isn't going to want its writers to start with movie reviews: you need to do news, likely several beats of news as it's a small paper in a small town.
But the town felt surprisingly real, by dream standards. Even by my dream standards, as the environments my dream-self is in are often both vivid and presented matter-of-factly. I saw several parts of the town: a main drag, a not-very-big shopping center, and small early-20th century office buildings — I said it was specific — plus an apartment building I'd moved into.
The less matter-of-fact detail of the dream: the owner of the newspaper, an eccentric woman, hadn't told me where the newspaper office was. I knew where I was living; I was looking for where I'd have my office. And I didn't find it. I tried: the owner had left clues that I was trying to decipher. Still, no. Perhaps Dream-Me should have opened a copy of the newspaper and looked for an address there, but Dream-Me didn't think of it. Okay, I mean I didn't think of it.
But, except for me writing something a small newspaper wouldn't need, the dream's details felt correct. I'd been in small towns like this one, whether Vienna, Virginia where I lived from 1984 to 1987 to Hermiston, Oregon, a town of under 12,000 people back then so it wasn't small-small but it wasn't big. Maybe an owner would be eccentric. Maybe I'd write again for a publication, paying me a wage to use words well.
The dream was specific in a way that, unsolved mystery aside, was almost comforting.
I won't be a reporter again, the way I was from 1997 to 2000. Ultimately, I wasn't good enough at it. Mostly I was okay, sometimes I was good, occasionally I was great, but my average was...average. It took me a few years of no longer working in media to realize that, but I did. I found other jobs. Some I did well. Some I did very well. Some I was just okay at. But Dream-Me doesn't usually work. And it struck me. So I blogged about it.
How will the next dream be interesting?