Cell Phone Panic

My husband's alarm woke me from a very weird dream this morning. I won't describe it all (as if you're interested). It had to do with hubby and me going back to college . . . sharing a dorm room with no bed . . . never-ceasing rain . . . and some snotty cheerleaders trying to recruit us into their snot-circle. Weird.

But the key moment in the dream for me was when I woke up in our dorm room (I'd been sleeping on this chair thing we have right now in our game room -- it unfolds into a "bed", but I've had it since my real college days and it's pretty worn out -- I woke up thinking how am I going to sleep on this all year?) . . . anyways, I woke up in our dorm room and my husband wasn't there, and I got my cell phone to call him.

Only my cell phone was messed up. The screen had little dots on it which, upon closer inspection, turned out to be tiny holes. The picture on the screen was too dark to see and seemed to be fading as I watched. I had a vague memory of dropping the phone the day before, but it had been fine when I picked it up . . .

(My daughter's phone did something similar a few months ago. My brain has precedent for the concept.)

No problem, I thought. I'll call him on the regular phone. Only this "regular" phone was some absolutely bizarre contraption that I could hardly figure out, and once I did, I realized I didn't know my husband's phone number. It's saved on my phone.

And then the panic set in. Because my life is saved on my phone.

All my phone numbers. Passwords. Calendar. To-do lists. Everything. (Okay, in reality, my laptop has a lot of this stuff, too, but this was dreamworld and my panic was justified.)

I tried to stay calm. I tried really, really hard to stay calm. I tried to remember that I used to live life quite well without a cell phone, and surely I can do it again. But my mind was a-swirl, and I couldn't put two and two together to make seven, and since we were now apparently poor college students, I didn't know if we had the money to pay to fix my phone, and I was starting to hyperventilate.

That's when my husband's real-life alarm woke me up. The alarm on his cell phone, ironically.

I'm not sure what to make of this dream. There's nothing to make of it, right? Right. Just a dream. A brain fart. No message in there from my subconscious or the Almighty or anyone.

But I'm SO glad my phone works today!!!!