(As background, I took my first dose of trazodone last night.)
I am wearing my robe, and I have to walk to work with my friend Patricia
. We have to walk some awful distance like 30 miles. The walk is muddy and cold, and I am upset because I don't want to go to work. On the way, we stop at a mental
health clinic. The grass is terribly green and I want to roll in it, with a water cooler
nearby. Patricia urges me to get up, reminding me that if we don't get going, we will be late for work. Reluctantly, I get up and continue walking to work. I am cranky because the hem of my robe is muddy, I am not wearing anything underneath it, and I don't have any shoes on.
When I get to work, it is like another version of the clinic. There are several small washing machines and dryers set up in a decrepit hygiene
-themed room. All of the bed
sheets are dirty and my co workers are bedraggled. I start to do laundry and I am suddenly transported to a street corner where there is a washing machine with slots to pay for the clothes to be cleaned. So much money has been jammed into the washing machine that it is overflowing with quarters, silver quarter
s, silver dollar
s, half dollars, foreign coins, and rare coins. I put my wash into the machine and start scooping the money into my pockets. The people on the corner notice that I have money from the machine, and I share
it with them. I realize at this point that I am no longer wearing my robe
, but I am dressed in a pair of pants and a comfortable tank
top. My hair is done in a spiky red style and I am very happy.