Recurring Nightmares

When I was a litle girl, we lived in a two bedroom apartment on the second floor of a two story walk-up on Algonquin Avenue in North Bay.

For years, I had the same dream, every three or four month.

In my dream, I'd wake up, make my way down the hall, past my parents bedroom, and into the living room.

Once I got to the living room, the "souls" (and this is the best way I can describe them) living there would emerge from where they were hiding, behind the couch, the rocking chair, and under the kitchen table. They'd simply look at me, or beckon me with their crooked fingers.

I would stand there -- cold and immobilized -- unable to move or run.

Eventually we moved out of that apartment, into a house on Galt Street, and I stopped having that dream. I may have also stopped having that dream after someone explained to me that if you find yourself unable to run in a dream, jumping usually works.

I never did figure out what it meant, but I thought of it this morning because I've been tagged to accept the CMA Award for SickKids at the big Gala at the Harbour Castle on Friday night. It's what an old boss of mine used to call, The Prom.

I've won before, but never had to accept. Usually the clients are more than happy to enjoy their time in the sun.

If we win a Merit, I'm off the hook. But, if we win a Gold or Silver, I have to get up, make my way up the side steps on to the stage, accept the trophy, and make my way down the front steps...in front of probably 1,000 souls.

Nightmare.

David Bowie once said, "God made Tina Turner to teach women how to walk in high heels." Where the hell is Tina Turner when I need her?