For those of you who read this blog to psychoanalyze its author;
I keep having this series of dreams, where I'm sitting with a few people in a restaurant. My dining companions change, and so does the food. The company is always good and appreciated, however, and the food is always rich and filling. In fact, by the time the bell captain brings the 50's style telephone, sans dial, to the table and places it on the luxurious white linen tablecloth, I am quite full. When the phone is delivered, I am informed that I have a call, and I excuse myself to my fellow diners, picking up the receiver. I feel kind of rude, but also like the waitstaff have gone to all this trouble, and if someone's calling me here, it must be important. I answer.
It is always some deceased acquaintance of mine. Good friends, an old girlfriend, a great-uncle, a classmate, my grandfather, recent deaths, and ones that happened a long time ago. The only unifying characteristic is that I have missed them since. It takes me a few seconds of conversation to realize they aren't alive, and this realization is like ice cold water starting at the crown of my head and slowly flowing downward to cover all of my skin. Apparently, the look on my face is a (heh) dead giveaway to my companions, because there is slow consternation about the nature of my call(s). Generally, being the sort of person that I am, I point this out to the caller, who acknowledges it and moves on, asking me about stuff that's happened since. One person asked me about their wake, another about their death, and still another about their grave marker. After a few minutes of chat, I am filled with a longing to see the person again, and also to get off the phone. That trips my internal fail-safe, and I wake up.
Usually about an hour before my alarm's due to go off in the morning. Any takers on this one?