Nightmare Shnightmare

The recurrent nightmare of my life involved tests, much as my waking live constantly involves tests. From the period when I received my Bachelor of Arts in English Language and Literature to the time when I entered L-School, the nightmare came about once a week. I was in the middle of finals, had an upcoming final for a class I hadn’t studied for, hadn’t attended, didn’t even know I was enrolled in. This extended to every credit I had, thereby denying me my diploma, and keeping me in school for another semester. Usually, when I woke up, there would be a good minute and a half of freaking out, running through all the possibilities in my mind. Where would I go for help? What classes would I have to take again? Would I take the same classes again? How the hell would I explain to everyone I failed an entire semester? Then, slowly, ignorance would drain from my mind, replaced with a slightly sobering realization that the diploma remained rolled up in a cardboard container underneath my bed.

After my first semester in L-school, on to maybe nine months ago, the basic scenario was the same, except now it was L-school classes. Despite not caring as much, somehow the situation seemed much more dread. All the same feelings, but a lot more shame at having failed L-school courses. Maybe it was because at least ninety-five percent of our final grades, if not the entire final grade, was based on the final exam. It was like drinking an adrenalin milkshake, then chained to a narcoleptic dog. I didn’t know when it would wake up and I would freak out, I didn’t know when it would fall asleep and I could get some rest.

Somewhere along the line, those nightmares stopped. I can’t pinpoint an exact date, because I would still have other nightmares wake me up sweating and disoriented. Now that I think back, it has been so long since I last dreamt of the rigors of L-school. The stress tic still tugs at my left eye, and strangely, migrated from my right eye. As of late, the tic has started rolling downward to my left nostril (why the hell is my left nostril twitching? How the hell is my left nostril twitching? I’m sure it looks like I’m flaring my nostrils and incredibly pissed off at whatever new task L.M. throws at me.). It is no longer the tic borne of hatred and fear of l-school.

My unconscious is starting to let go, something my conscious still cannot. I don’t know what it is that has given it the capability to relax a little. Could it be the continual sabotage of my legal career rendering me all but unable to find a job as a solicitor? Could it be that I live in a state in which I cannot render legal advice? Could it be finally burned out and no longer antipathetic towards L-School in nature? Could it be that I’m expressing myself more than I used to, and so it has no need to torment my dreams? I don’t know. Wish I did. Then maybe I could consciously let go and move on.