“I dreamt that I tried to donate blood,” I told Mr. P this morning as we lounged in bed.
“That’s good, because I had a dream that I lost a finger,” he said. Semi-mock newlywed cooing ensued.
Yes, I had a dream that I attempted to donate blood, probably inspired by an idle thought I had on the acupuncture table yesterday: I’m so acclimated to needles, maybe someday I’ll be able to donate blood!
The dream took place in a large auditorium, filled with people and tables of food. I waited in a long line with two friends to donate blood. We were last in line. We weren’t allowed to eat the food until after we donated our blood, and I was quite concerned that the food would run out. Crowds of blood donors milled around us with their piled plates of pies and sandwiches. I was indignant. When we finally reached the counter, they wouldn’t allow me to donate blood, because I had registered to donate using my maiden name, making me ineligible.
Apparently, the dream was telling me that I’m not ready to donate blood.
