Rachel Young

thursday, september 20, 2001

Dream Log 092001 . . .

There’s a heap of clothes spread out on the living room floor. My brother, sister, OMT, and I are quickly rummaging through the pile and putting it into a strong black Hefty garbage sack. Sweaters, shirts, socks, and other articles of clothing which have gone unworn for some time are collected for donation. Once everything’s collected, Dad and OMT drive off in a beige mini-van to the nearest Salvation Army.

Then my sister, brother, and I are suddenly out in the backyard of our old house in Prince George (which had a huge yard set on a five-acre plot of land—I miss that house). My brother is playing catch with our golden retriever, Theresa. And as I’m watching him, I’m thinking how nice it would be if our cockerspaniel Sammy was still alive. My entire family adored that dog, especially my brother. And then out of nowhere Sammy comes running out of the woods to play catch, too. I see the curly golden hair of this ears flop up and down as he's running. For a minute, I think I'm literally in heaven or that God decided to bring my dog back to life because we missed him so much.

Mother is out on the deck with my sister chopping onions. And without even giving it a second thought, I go over and take a handful and shove it in my mouth. My mother is so proud because I’m eating my vegetables. But as I walk away, I feel like I’m going to gag from the awful potency (and repulsive taste!) of the onion. I’m quickly running to the corner of the house where I can spit it out without my mother noticing. I head over to the driveway at the side of the house, but Dad pulls up in the mini-van. I can’t let him see me spit it out either.

The flavor of the onion is getting stronger and more nauseating as it sits in my mouth, and so I rush into the house, but the door’s locked.

I can hear Sammy and Theresa barking around the corner.

And now at 4:12am, I’m awake. And I have this horrible taste of onions in my mouth (although I can’t even recall the last time I had onion in anything) and a nauseating feeling in the pit of my stomach. I got up and brushed my teeth right away, but it didn't help. I don't feel so good.

Strange, strange, strange.

While at work today, I’m going to have to do some research on the significance of onions and what it symbolizes (other than the fact it was my nickname in high school and college). If you find anything, let me know. And if you're going to tell me that I'm psycho and have serious problems, you better be able to back it up with some substantial documented information found in your research!

rewind forward