Dreams have been boring of late.

I was reconciling with someone who’d angered me. I held my anger for a long time. Now I was being persuaded for the betterment of some project to make up. I didn’t want to but reluctantly agreed.

My seconds and I met with his seconds under an Interstate overpass. It was a dark, wet day. The terrain was brown dirt and highly sloped. Huge round pale pillars supported the highway. Interstate traffic thundered and roared overhead.

We approached one another. Words which I couldn’t hear were exchanged. I decked him.

Then, a voiceover: “Now let’s do it from his point of view.”

I was the other person. I knew I’d wronged me. I was sorry. I accepted that I would probably hit me. I walked into it knowing it would happen but accepted that it would.

And it did.

We were working on a project. Dad was involved. I’d done great on it. Everyone was congratulating me on my outstanding performance. I was pleased and excited but also uncomfortable with all the attention.

A celebration was set up. I was told I’d won a prize for my performance. A big white decorated sheet cake was brought in. People began taking pieces. I couldn’t get to it and get any. It was going quickly.

A new silver BMW convertible was brought in. I was confused as to whether it was my prize. I thought it was but others got in it to take it for a spin.

I was left waiting for my cake and my prize.

I was at a new military assignment. I’d just completed a prestigious assignment and had been recognized for my contributions. My OIC was a female, someone I didn’t know. She was young and I was teaching her how to set things up. Two other controllers were assigned to the location. A new one had arrived.

I was explaining processes to the new controller and explaining to him that one of the others – I think I gave a name – would be assigned to him to train him. Meanwhile, I filled out forms as templates to help him correctly process information.

I was almost done. The newbie was preparing to leave. So was I. The OIC suggested that I get an emergency number from the newbie. “Good idea,” I agreed, and called to him for one even as I thought, that would have already been done.

“How do we reach you?” I asked him. He was twenty to thirty yards away. “Do you have an emergency number?”

Walking back toward us, he replied, “I was born in Iowa.” He then began to tell us about his childhood.

The OIC and I were confused. Why was he telling us this?

The end.

So – it seems like these dreams reflect many facets. Of being recognized but not rewarded. Of needing to make up with myself and forgive. I don’t know what I’m forgiving. Past errors?

There seemed also an element of being confused about what was expected of me.

Ah, dreams.