Had my first Oprah dream ever last night, she spent the whole time talking into her cell phone and reporting what she found, did not say one word to me, beyond “I am here to inspect the cats, based on reports of their failure to thrive.”
So I called the cats, Angelbait limped in, furless tip-to-tail, covered in open bleeding wounds, emaciated and bumping into walls, unrecognizable in comparison to her living well-fed robust existence.
But Kamikaze was oblivious, passed out in front of the air conditioner, in keeping with waking reality where our heat index is 110-plus these days. She won’t move a muscle for anything less than Albacore tuna.
Sure, interpretation says I am the cats, and I am Oprah, and I am the me the Oprah-me is coldly ignoring and there is all that poignancy in an unconscious dreamstate addressing my own failure to thrive.
But the fact is my cats are all I have, they do have health problems, I don’t have money or transportation if/when one of them needs care, and these are facts I don’t want to look at.
I am by nature an escapist, but eventually will adapt to reality and do what circumstances require. Is thriving required? Is this me and the cats we’re talking about, this thriving deal, or do I simply need to build a little nest egg for the unexpected emergency vet call? Then why didn’t she just say that?
I don’t know if this dream was telling me anything more than reasons to be guilty. Goddamn gurus and their impossible standards, no matter how you look at it, Oprah Winfrey is a nightmare.