Why Can’t I Take a Proper Dump in This Dream?
I don’t know about you, but whenever I have to go to the bathroom to relieve myself of some serious weight, I can never seem to do it properly.
Usually it begins with that turtling (or gophering) feeling that you get when it threatens to poke its way through before you can reach a proper extraction point. You know it’s going to come, whether you want it to or not, and most of the time your dream offers you a receptacle.
Now, I didn’t say a “proper” receptacle. I remember one time we were on a road trip. Don’t ask me who “we” was; I don’t remember now, but I think my dad was there. We were driving home from somewhere far, like Halliburton, or Florida. I was driving, but suddenly...
I saw a house by the lake that we were driving by, and it was my best bet. It turned out to be a small cathedral for nuns who happened to have the best washroom in the world. They offered an old wooden shack, but I knew that that wouldn’t work for me. I knew that oftentimes in my dreams, tiny, cramped spaces would not suffice for a proper delivery station for my... stuff.
I looked around and saw through a half opened door that there was a washroom the size of a family room. It was huge, and beautiful. The floors and walls were elegantly tiled or marbled, and the toilet was made of glass or something. I knew that this would be perfect.
I sat down, but for some reason I wasn’t comfortable. At first the toilet hole was too small, and then too big. It was slippery, but then it was not. At one point it sat too low. Tried as I might, I couldn’t relieve myself.
And then something happened.
I think I must have flushed the toilet, and somehow clogged it – with nothing – because water started to flow everywhere. The water rose high, and I had no way of escaping. The nuns we banging on the door, asking what I was doing in there. Normally, that’s a stupid question.
I think I totally ruined the greatest washroom that ever was.
Not too long ago I dreamt of needing to drop off some brownies at the way-station while I was at my friend Michael’s house. I began to gopher, but quickly, I made it to the washroom and closed the door.
I looked up. Ten feet up and there, above a shelf full of linen sat the toilet.
I climbed the shelf and pulled down my pants, but this thing wasn’t built for me. I teetered as I tried to find a good spot to sit, and I must have let some out before resolving my sitting issue because it started to go everywhere!
Serves them right for putting a toilet so high up.
I found another one that sat so low to the ground that it was probably made for their dog or something. Whatever. So I’m not potty trained in the dream world. Maybe next time my mind will be gracious enough to provide me with a diaper and a hot nurse to change me.
Last night I dreamt of having to go again. This was after I had the Cedar Springs nightmare, and after I woke up and finally went back to sleep whilst trying to get the song “too young to fight it” out of my head.
I was at work, or at least, I was with my work friends. Actually, the only ones who were present were the girls I’ve had crushes on for the past year or so. Not a good crowd to be around when you’re about to have an I-can’t-poo-properly dream.
I had to go, and my friend Stacey knew it (or was it Sasha?). She dragged me along the corridor as we tried to find a washroom, but the only one available had like five kids bathing and playing in the tub with their figurines (which happened to be Army Ants and M.U.S.C.L.E. men if anyone who grew up in the eighties remembers those).
She said, just go in there. Common, I’ll go with you.
I thought she was nuts. She knew that there was nowhere else to go, but I thought it wouldn’t be right to pull down my pants and take a dump while the kids were watching. And somehow I got it in my head that we might also be doing something erotic with each other, and again, that wouldn’t be right in front of the kids.
Geez, now the floodgates have opened. I remember another poo dream where I was at this community center and I had to go pretty bad (badly?). I ran for the community washrooms, and you know how those are. Even in real life you can never find a relatively clean one, without paper or poo sitting on the rim, or with yellow water and a log in the middle, or having the stall look like a monster just tore a Poo-animal to pieces and smearing its poo-blood all over the walls and floor...
Well these stalls looked exactly like that. And even if I actually found one that was doable, it took so long to just place the toilet paper down onto the rim so that I could sit without feeling like I’ve been infected with poomydia. You know how you have to strategically fold and place the TP onto the rim of the bowl so that absolutely no ceramic can touch your behind? Yeah, well in dreams that takes forever! Half the time (and not unlike reality), the paper falls to the floor. And there is no five second rule my friends... This isn’t your kitchen, and you didn’t just drop a twelve ounce medium rare porterhouse steak on the floor. This is a COMMUNITY TOILET!!! The paper is sullied if it so much as hints that it touched the floor – or the inside of the bowl for that matter.
I kinda’ hope I’m not alone on this can’t-poo-in-dreams thing, but I also don’t exactly wish it on anyone else. It’s quite distressing, especially after dreaming about a haunted basement that could make you want to brown your pants in real life!