If your eyes glaze over when someone says, "I had this dream last night that..." WARNING! Jump to the red line. I was a man, which is weird, but doable, walking in some kind of salt marshes when two Rastafarians in a battered pick up truck stopped and told me about a mango tree just over the ridge. Their instructions? "Tend to da tree, man." Over and over. So I did it, because I'm that kind of girl, man, whatever. Tending to the tree involved running around in circles beneath it gathering mangoes, a never ending endeavor if ever there was one. Once a day, the truck would kick dust up from the road and I'd hear "Tend to da tree, man," hollered from its open windows. Soon, the sleeves were ripped off my Oxford and somehow I knew I'd lost my wife and family and job because I'd tended to this tree. One day, I stood in the road and waited. The men came and endured my stink eye and enough tongue lashing to make them want to bury themselves in a ganja-stupor for decades. And when I was done, the man said, "You tended da tree, man. Look at it now!"
And then someone woke me.
Are you kidding me? I picked up after this tree for a thousand dream-years and I don't get to see the fruits of my labor?
I know what you're thinking: the prefect opportunity for lucid dreaming, right? Get on it, girl! I have to find out what happened to the tree.
So I tried. Deep, calculated breathing. Visualization. And what did I dream about? I was Kate Winslet in a girdle and lived at home with my parents.
So much for the tree.