Inside-the-beltway dreams

LifelongNewYorker has been absent the last few days, and apologizes.

Four days inside the Beltway has pretty much expelled any sense of real life.  I’ve enjoyed a luxurious hotel room where the government’s buying power reduced the rack rate by a factor of five (which I consider a strong argument for a single-payer health care system …), the pleasure of an attentive waiter at breakfast eager to freshen my coffee every time it declines by a half inch, and I’ve  lived through four surreal days of meetings that will go undescribed.

The move has not been top of mind.  Except perhaps in the dreamscape.

The night before last I dreamt that I totalled my car, couldn’t find an up-to-date insurance card (which was, mysteriously, in my father’s name), and had to take a lot of long walks back and forth from my house (again, mysteriously, my parents’  house) to the body shop/scene of the accident.  I chose the body shop because it was right next to the accident scene, and was leery of its owner, who seemed to be taking shortcuts.

Last night, I had another car-related dream.  My very small car — a convertible VW bug, circa 1969– was the last one on a Staten Island Ferry, which was taking cars in a new way, by having them drive onto a kind of shoulder  platform that circled the exterior of the boat.  As luck would have it, my car’s back wheels were not on the actual platform and, as the boat pulled away from the slip, my car and I were dumped in the water.  Fortunately,  the water was shallow, I was in a convertible, and I managed to pull myself up on shore and shake my fist at the departing ferry.  I spent the rest of the dream trying to find a ferry crewman or captain to complain to personally, but they seemed to know I was coming and kept eluding me.

What do these dreams mean?  I welcome interpretations … leave a comment.