the crisis

The dream:

I am in a parking garage and pressed for time.

Looking around I can’t find what I need, anywhere. I can hear the elevator gears grinding, but none of the doors will lead me to where I need to go.

I spy several young, good-looking attendants (hey, it’s my dream, ok?).

“Where’s the elevator? Which door should I choose?”

Moments later, nothing. Still no response from the weary, bleary-eyed men.

“Still waiting!”

I realize that one of the men is walking towards me. In fact, they all sit down at a long desk to observe. “An existential crisis, huh?” laughed the attendant. “Doors.”

“No!” I shouted with conviction. “Sometimes a door is just a door.”

“Do you have a problem with ambiguity?” he asked, furiously scribbling on a pad of paper.

“Well, no, I…. Well, I don’t like it. But I see its inevitability.”

I stepped through the door closest to me and leapt into nothingness.

~ Lately, I have the feeling that everyone I know is in therapy. And that they are all in agreement that I need to be therapy, too. Or on some kind of medication. If I choose to be screwed up and can live my life without causing harm to others, or harm to myself, isn’t that enough?