Will I Ever Stop Dreaming About My Math Teacher?
The Muse Letter No. 74
The other day I had a nightmare. Again. A very familiar one. I have it 2-3 times a year maybe, maybe less. It’s hard to tell with dreams. I used to write them down in a dream diary to reflect upon later. To make sense out of them. The only true thing I can say about this one is: It’s always the same theme. And it always has to do with my math teacher.
The latest variation of this dream was that I was late to go to school, late for the first lesson: math. Of course. There’s always a problem with math. I’m either failing the exam or am too late for it or I have not been to class the whole year and they are going to find out, because when I actually used to go to school, that was in fact true. Well sort of.
It all began after the summer of what would be my last summer holidays before graduation: I had caught glandular fever, also known as kissing disease. I had unfortunately not kissed anyone that summer but still gotten it somehow. For three weeks I was lying in bed, barely moving, barely able to eat, complete exhaustion. After that I gradually went back to school again. Gradually meaning that I only went to my major courses: German and History. The ones I would be tested in my final exams.
Because glandular fever is a tricky disease that leaves you exhausted for weeks, sometimes in my case months, physical exercise or concentrating for a long time is not recommended. Which obviously was pretty brilliant: a free ticket to pass on any subject I didn’t like (e.g. math, chemistry and P.E.)
As nobody could proof my limit of exhaustion and given the freedom to choose for myself: for a while skipping math was pretty fun. After all I was tired, I was ill, I wasn’t lying: How to tell how tired I would be after math? Better not find out.
I guess somewhere around here is where my recurring nightmare was born.