An open letter to my dream machine

Dear whoever scripts my dreams,

I'm a big fan. I really am. We've had some great times: more often than not, you give me dreams where I'm in beautiful, tropical places, and you've come up with some hilarious stuff; material that my waking state could never cook up.

Where your skills are lacking lately is in the anxiety dreams. Usually, I love your style in this department: no need to dress up the worry in psychobabble. You put forward a situation that may be unrealistic or outlandish, but it's clear what I'm stressing about, and I can wake up and think, "Yup. Dream machine's right. I do feel like the my job is dragging me down like that scientist who was pulled under the water of a lush tropical bay by a huge mutant crocodile." And I carry on my life without a second thought.

But lately...your imagination is slipping. While I don't want difficult-to-analyze stuff, I don't need things quite as blatant as last night. Giving me a dream where three attractive coworkers from my recently-ex-job took turns going into the hotel room of a famous athlete while I waited outside for them was really kind of a slap in the face, and it's made me feel pretty lousy all day in that totally irrational way that dreams do.

Now, I appreciate that you tried to make up for that dream in my nap just now with some really funny scenes from a movie with Seth Rogen and Will Farrell, but you didn't make it vivid enough for me to remember, which tells me that maybe you're just not trying very hard.

You do great work, and I have a great appreciation for you. Don't get me wrong. But if you could work more with analogies and symbolism in the anxiety dreams, just for a little while at least, I'd appreciate it.

Love,
     Reid