On Social Media, Hot Flashes and Bad Dreams

I woke up from a bad dream, in the middle of a hot flash. What to do? Check my social media, of course.

My regular morning schedule is wacky. My husband gets up at 5 am and I, more often than not, get up with him, even if I have nothing more important to do than fulfill my daily deadlines and wait for a delivery. While he gets ready for work, I check Facebook. Because of EverBeautiful.com, I am hooked in. I check my sm (social media and not that kind of sex, although sometimes I feel they can be one and the same) obsessively. Nothing new on Facebook. Someone’s posted an old rock song, cute animal photo or poster with a witty or poignant saying to amuse me in the early hours of the day. I proceed to LinkedIn to check on groups in which I rarely participate, on to Twitter which confuses the crap out of me so much so that, after a few minutes of trying to figure it out my brain is throbbing and I have to sign off. Then I’m on to Lyst, Pinterest, Instagram …  I can’t keep up! I get frustrated, log out of all sm and open up Free Cell. This, at least, I can figure out.

By this time, it’s 7 am; my husband has left and I’m on to searching for something to write about for one of my freelance  clients. Sometimes it doesn’t work out and I spend a futile hour or more searching for inspiration. This is the highlight of my early morning. I love reading my newsfeeds and writing the posts (when there’s something to write) and, when there’s not, I still feel as if I’ve fed my brain for the day. At least I’ll have something interesting to discuss at the next dinner party or with my husband that evening.

This morning was a little different. I was awakened by hot flashes and bad dreams Trust me, this is not a pleasant way to wake up. My dream was one I have a lot. It involves train stations, subway platforms and being lost. I’m usually alone, on my way to somewhere – and late – when I get lost, caught up in a crowd or just lost alone. I’ve been having this dream forever, and, while the venue changes (sometimes I’m in Brooklyn. It doesn’t look like Brooklyn or anywhere I’ve ever been, but I just know it is. Sometimes it’s Queens. Sometimes, as in the case of this morning’s dream, it’s Long Island and the LIRR. The scene changes but what never changes is the fact that I’m lost and late.) In this morning’s dream, I was with my husband – but he didn’t really help me not be lost because we got swept up in a crowd, couldn’t get close to the ticket window to buy our ticket to – somewhere. I never know where I’m going to or coming from in these dreams. Just that I’m lost and late. I never have the right change or right card or right ticket and I’m always, always lost. These dreams are frightening and stress me out. Compound that with the fact that I woke up in a hot haze of hot flash. It was a bad way to start the day.

About being lost — I am always lost. Or, often lost. (I’ve gotten better about it as I’ve gotten older.) I never know how to get somewhere, anywhere – and nothing ever looks the same coming back as it did going, so I get lost in both directions. When I used to work in New York, I’d take the same subway to work every single day. But I was always lost. I didn’t know which was the back of the train, the front of the train, in which direction the train was going. Every single day, for years, I had to ask directions. This might seem like a silly thing to most people. But it is terrifying for me. When I hadn’t asked for help, I ended up in the Bronx, when I’ve wanted to be in midtown. I’ve ended up in Brooklyn when I’ve wanted to be on Long Island. I’ve gotten on the wrong Long Island Rail Road train only to end up in a town nowhere near my house. My first apartment, in Forest Hills, Queens, was like Brigadoon. When I’d get off the subway, I’d head in what I thought was the general direction of my apartment. Sometimes it was; sometimes it wasn’t. Sometimes I’d be home in ten minutes; sometimes I’d walk around the neighborhood for an hour or more before I had to ring a stranger’s doorbell and ask directions to my own home. Brigadoon. I never knew when my apartment would be there or when it wouldn’t. When I moved to a house on LI, in a community where the houses all looked the same (although they were painted, decorated and landscaped differently) I’d often pull into the driveway, click the garage remote and wonder why the door didn’t open. Dead batteries, I’d think and get out of the car to go to the front door only to realize that I wasn’t in my own driveway at all.  No wonder the garage remote didn’t work. In case you think this was a one time thing, it wasn’t. This happened more times than I care to remember.

It’s more than just a bad sense of direction. It’s a thing. I have a thing. I inherited it from my mother and, I am unhappy to say, I passed it along to one of my daughters.

I guess this being lost in space accounts for my recurring subway/train station dreams. And, on the days I have those, I wake up stressed and unhappy. Like today.

I don’t know what it is. I don’t know why I’m this way. I can’t tell time, can’t give or follow directions, can’t add, subtract, divide or multiply and I can’t make a decent pot of coffee either. I think they’re connected. Directions, numbers, counting spoonsful of coffee. I’ve gotten better over the years. I’ve learned to compensate. Somewhat.

I have a friend who’s driving cross country alone this week. She’s never done it before but was psyched to do it. I think it’s the greatest thing in the entire world. If I tried to drive cross country, I’d end up in Asia.

I’m not sure why I’m writing about this. My dream is still fresh in my mind; I still see myself unsuccessfully navigating the tunnels underneath New York City.

Social media, done. Research for my client, done. Post for client written and uploaded. Not done. But I think I’ll go out for a walk instead. I need to clear my mind of subway tunnels and get lost in the fresh air.