When I get busy, I dream a lot more. Here is another short dream filled with symbolism—
I dreamed I went to the butcher’s in the Netherlands, which is quite a treat because I tend not to buy much meat. I got my hands on this nice big chunk of smoked ham and was carrying it around with me, slicing chunks off of it as I went along my daily business, enjoying the juicy goodness of cured pork.
Everywhere I went I ran into friends.
“Check out this beautiful honk of ham,” I’d brag and show it off because it was so good.
I joined a walk with some kids and their caretakers for a school project. As I was proudly digging into the ham, my friend Mary takes a second look.
“That ham is rotten.” she says.
It’s tasting great, so I deny it.
“See how good it looks!”
“Nope. Rotten.” someone else affirms.
I keep walking along with my ham until I find my friend Max sitting alone and on the verge of crying at a picnic table. I suggest we go hang out with our old high school friends in the neighbor’s backyard. To put my arm around him, I set down my plastic bag with the ham and one corner bursts open, releasing a frenzied stream of little ants carrying their eggs to safety.
“Your ham is rotten,” Max says.
“No, it’s fine,” I insist. But I know it isn’t true and wonder how I did not taste what others could smell. I am embarrassed with my stubbornness and nearly got sick seeing what was inside my precious ham.
Damn it if I have eaten that ham a thousand times! I get married to some idea that is absolutely rot and nobody can talk me out of it.