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I’m not sure that my subconscious knows that I’ve graduated yet.

For the past two nights, I’ve had dreams about being late for school, which I still apparently need to attend. The night before that, I dreamed that my grades were lousy – not oh-heaven-help-us-it’s-an-A-minus lousy, but give-us-the-diploma-back lousy.

According to the omniscient internet, dreaming about school “most often represents social concerns, insecurities or anxieties.” I have no idea what on earth that’s about. After all, why should I worry about my interactions with other people when I never leave the house anyhow?

Just kidding, actually. I left the house just last Saturday and went to a friend’s wedding. It was fun. I embarrassed myself on the dance floor for hours, made friends with a group of chatty college students, and even caught the bridal bouquet. I am still puzzling out the physics on that one, because normally I can’t catch anything. In fact, I probably couldn’t catch the black plague if I were a fourteenth-century sewage worker – that’s how bad I am.

In the car, my brother (as brothers are wont) brought up that my catching the bouquet meant that I would be the next to get married.

“That’s too bad,” I replied.

“Why? You’re always bellyaching about how lonely you are and how it’ll take you forever to meet the right man.”

“I just feel sorry for the other girls,” I said. “Because the bouquet means I’ll be married first, and heaven knows how long that’s gonna take.”

So maybe there is something to that dream interpretation after all.

Maybe.

It might also reflect that the magnitude of the changes about to take place in my life hasn’t quite set in yet, and certain parts of my brain are still in denial.

Why, brain? Why? Can’t you see that I’m doing this for you? College means a better future for both of us, so can’t you at least pretend to be excited? Or, at the bare minimum, stop flinging symbolism-loaded panicky nightmares about Ds, Fs, and truancy at me? Please?

No? Well, I tried asking politely. Now you’ve given me no choice but to kill off your cells one by one as I whack my acceptance packet against my forehead until you get it. Capiche?

(My subconscious and I argue all the time. It’s great.)

In the meantime, I’m enjoying the extra sleep that comes with summer break, and the time I spend panicking when I wake up and see my clock has been cut down drastically. (Let’s just say that the Monday after graduation, Mom had to chase me down the street as I sprinted to school in inside-out shorts, wild-eyed and hyperventilating.) In fact, according to my current projections, by next week I will not care a lick what the clock says when I get up in the morning…if, in fact, it’s still morning.

Sorry. I’m a teenager, and our sleep schedules are weird.

Although not quite as weird as the twisted inner workings of our minds.

(Fine, subconscious. Take it personally. See if I care. Hmph!)