Insanity Defence

In the thirty odd years that I worked at the Post Office, I dreamt about work two times. I can’t remember what the dreams were about, but I took pride in the fact that I didn’t take work home with me and that my subconscious mind had better things to focus on. I kept an emotional distance from all of the craziness that went on; and really who cares if Aunt Margie got her birthday card on time or even if the mail for 105 Wintergreen Rd. went to 105 Wintergreen Place? Not me and not most of the people that I worked with. Hmmmmm…Perhaps that might be what is wrong with the Post Office. Naaahhhh!

Last night I did dream about delivering mail. I was on vacation in some Spanish speaking country and for some reason I had a large handful of mail. I must have been waiting while Louise was off shopping, so I decided to deliver the mail. Normally, you match the street name and the house number to the one on the letter, and drop it in the mailbox. It is pretty simple, but since I have no working knowledge of Spanish and didn’t know what street I was on, I did have a problem. There was a kid asking me for money and since he spoke English I asked him what street we were on and he told me. It was pretty easy to match the numbers, so I started to deliver the letters.

It was a beautiful part of town, with winding cobblestone streets with flowers hanging from lamp posts and far off music playing. It was kind of nice to be doing something, until I came to a letter that needed a signature. I didn’t have the proper signature sheet, so I picked a piece of paper out of the garbage and would have the person sign it. That’s the best I could do. Unfortunately, the address was under construction and when I asked one of the guys working, he said that he wasn’t sure who lived here. He called his buddy Stan over, but Stan didn’t know either. While we were talking, Stan was drilling holes in the arm of the couch for no apparent reason with a really large drill. I asked them why two English speaking guys were doing work in a Spanish town, but they said that they didn’t speak English at all. After that, I couldn’t understand a word they said.

When I got back on the street, I saw the kid I talked to was being chased by the local cops. I guess it was because he was begging or maybe he was even a thief. I watched him duck into a doorway and just before the cops got there, a man and a bunch of kids came out wearing funny black hats and green capes. They went over and sat under a large tree and the man (teacher) started talking to them. He pulled out a large set of bulls testicles that had been knitted out of wool, and began to point out what I can only imagine was the best way to cut them off. All of the kids pulled out smaller versions that were rainbow coloured and the whole class began to stroke their little bags of nuts.

I looked around and although I sort of understood why I would dream about delivering mail, I couldn’t understand why I would dream of rainbow coloured, woolen bull’s balls. I looked at the mail left in my hand, said “Fuck this shit!” and tossed it in a garbage can. I wandered off looking for some place that sold ice cream.

I wanted to get this dream down and “out there” just in case I ever kill anyone. This might go a long way helping my lawyer and the insanity defence. Well, it can’t hurt.