The Dream

It was a dream. A dream of a woman in midlife crisis.
Well, may be not a crisis as such but let's say, turmoil. Or tornado. Or whatever.

It was a dream. They say, dreams depict one's thoughts, the subconscious mind, the fears and wishes. This was my dream.

I had not slept well in several days. I was unwell, on one hand, with an airway obstruction preventing me from sleeping at all. I was also working hard over several months, in a very unhappy, unpleasant working conditions. Bad bosses. Uncooperative, selfish colleagues. I was tired. Exhausted. I was feeling guilty over something that happened at work- not a significant event but something with a probability of going wrong; it had been alright in this instance but it could have gone wrong. All because I was too tired and exhausted. I was feeling drained, physically and emotionally. It kept me awake for a week or so.

And then, with improvement in my physical ailment, one night, I slept fairly well. For a couple of hours. I had dreams.

And in one of those dreams, I summed up my life; I evaluated how it had been, how it was going to be.
I asked myself, whether there had been great things in my life; 50 great things, to make it feel good. And I started counting:
I left my parents' home- which was a great thing, for instance.
I realized that I did not have 50 great things in my life, not yet. So I wanted to plan for 50 great things. That will be some life.