Church
April 3, 2020 | Atlanta | 40-49 years
Three parts of the dream. First, I was in our church—except it didn't look like our church in real life, but it was our church in my dream. And in my dream I noticed the sanctuary was longer and narrower than usual, and I had to sit at the back, and the seats in the back went way up, sort of like seats in the back of the bus do. And as I walked in, I saw ladies I know from church, and they were wearing awful white-haired wigs—like with curls flat against the bouffant—and the reason was that because we're all at home now, we can wear our hair however we want, so they were trying out wigs.
The second part was that I went to the back of the church building, to the kitchen, and picked up a casserole. It was a chicken casserole that in my dream had been made by my best friend in real life, who doesn't go to my church. As I walked out of the kitchen, holding the casserole dish by the lid, it wasn't secure and the bottom of the dish fell out and the chicken spilled all over the floor. In my dream, I knew I had held it correctly and I thought the dish was "designed badly."
The third part of my dream was at night, outside, with people standing around, lit up by the glow of something. It looked like the way people are illuminated around a bonfire, but there was no fire. A friend in the neighborhood had some type of shawl over her head and was looking gloomily toward where the glow would have been coming from. The gathering had to do with mourning and the coronavirus, but what they were mourning wasn't clear.
Note: Dreamer adds, “Coronavirus has been in my dreams somehow every night for several weeks and it's wearing me down. I wake up and feel beaten down before I've even gotten out of bed. Last night was the first non-virus dream in a while. I dreamt that the TSA was allowing people to take outside food through the security lines again, and there were people with brown paper bags of takeout food going through security to the terminals.
I'm in the news media, which is maybe why I keep dreaming of the virus—I'm doing stories on it 8 hours a day, 5 days a week. It's taking a toll.”
