Trippin'

Returning home from rather a disturbed sleep-in shift, I'm puzzling over fragments of last night's freaky dreams whilst listening to Robbie Williams on the Central Line. It's rather a potent combination.

There's a gigantic outdoor queue, the sort you might get at a theme park, but at the head of it is a reception desk and me. I'm queueing to go to my doctor, and it appears that his patient list has grown a bit. Or that everyone's got ill at once. I'm feeling quite smug as I've been given the number 1, and I'm feeling quite superior up until the moment the receptionist opens up the desk and calls for number 99. I plead my case, and she seems quite receptive, but I'm still not going anywhere.

There's a conversation between my two service users, one of whom is crying and the other repeatedly asking if he's alright. My phone shows 3.30am, and I slowly drag myself out of bed to find that they're both fast asleep and the house is quiet. So I go back to bed again. (NB- Some or all of this bit may have happened. The guys aren't telling me).

As I think about this one, my carriage fills with German Scouts. It's getting hard to tell which one is the dream sequence.

At the head of the doctor's queue there's my ex- (and now I suppose ex-) girlfriend. She's mysteriously shed about 3 stones and gained a pretty nasty set of bruises and scabs on her lips. But otherwise she looks pretty good. She explains that she was robbed by a woman and a man with a gun. I offer to help, but she seems remarkably laid back about the whole thing. For a woman who was hospitalised after getting locked in a corridor at work, panicking and putting her hand through a plate glass door, this is quite surprising, but then again nothing really surprises me in dreams. But the dream finishes with me heading to a rough part of town with a baseball bat. And I never got to see the doctor for whatever I needed.

I'm in serious need of an explanation for this dream. And a very early night tonight.