Sweet Dreams Aren't Made of These

A running theme here is developing with dreams. Last night, after only two hours of sleep I awoke from a horrible dream where my ex was essentially dragging me through broken glass as I was tied behind a horse and cart like in an old western. I got back to sleep after a little bit and awoke with this dream on the tip of my brain.

I was in a spelling bee trying to spell "Hypocrite" and I just couldn't remember how to spell it. As I sat on stage sweating unerneath hot and bright lights I looked over at the judges with anxiety and pain from not knowing the answer. The judges were a husband and wife. The wife was a wine connoisseur, if not an afficonado of wine and the husband was a pot farmer, NRA member who had helped me find a jazz record at a four year old's birthday party on Labor Day and then listened to it with me on top of a washing machine. As they both stared at me, analyzing me, the anxiety built until I had to just completely drop out of the competition and give no answer at all. All of a sudden, there were no right answers to be given in the situation and it seemed like a better plan just to shut up and walk away. Then I woke up with no resolution to the dream situation. I tried to go back to sleep to find out what I had done, but there was no luck because my brain had already switched to work at that point.