Article © 2013 by Joyce Mason
All Rights Reserved
Like Lucy in the
Peanuts cartoon who puts out her shingle asking 5 cents for Psychiatric Help,
Auntie Joyce has donned her Dr. Dreamwork hat. Dr. Auntie J. is offering you a
deal you can’t refuse at a price you can afford—free. Where else can you get
her two-cents for what it’s worth? Here are some of her best mental health
advice column comments. They come from around the zodiac, 12 diverse dreams and
dreamers. Today we’ll cover Aries through Virgo—tomorrow, Libra through Pisces.
Aries Dream: I run the Olympic Marathon in 2 hours flat. All
the media is focused on me. I’m the center of attention, getting my gold medal,
basking in all the cheers. I’m already wondering what I can do next to top
myself, when my girlfriend marches in, looking disgusted. She yanks the medal
off my neck which turns into a big pacifier. She sticks in my mouth while
others stare, laughing.
Dr. Auntie Joyce: Dear Rambunctious, spend a little less time
running around and more time weaning yourself from yourself. Come back to see
me when the binky turns into a sippy cup.
PS – Your girlfriend has your number.
Taurus Dream: I’m on
the Good Ship Lollypop! Bonbons are swaying, peppermints playing and Shirley
Temple is singing that catchy tune about candy, candy everywhere. My belly
looks like the Buddha’s. I’ve got chipmunk cheeks. Suddenly I burp and gold
coins and hundred dollar bills come billowing out. One curls into a big index
finger, wagging at me.
Dr. Auntie Joyce: Dear Little Bull, take an Alka Selzer and
call me in the morning. Bring the money. The rest of the sessions aren’t free.
Gemini
Dream: It was a nightmare! I
woke up from surgery with this diabolical doctor twirling his mustache. My mouth had been sutured shut! Pretty soon I started blowing
up like a balloon. All the words and air I couldn’t get out kept inflating me
up, up and bigger and thinner until I burst and splattered all over the
operating room.
Dr. Auntie Joyce: Dear Yakkity Gem, I’m sure they are
dissolving stitches and you’ll be back bending ears in no time flat. Meanwhile,
meditate on quality versus quantity in communication. Less talk, fewer words to
eat, fewer people wanting to shut you up. PS – I’d change doctors if I were
you.
Cancer Dream: It was worse than being childless! All my
children refused to speak to me or acknowledge me. They all changed their names
to something other than what I named them. If I called Susie or Joe, they
looked around to see who I meant. Everyone was a stranger. I invited them home
and they kept asking me, “Who are you again?” Worse yet, my cookies tasted like
crap.
Dr. Auntie Joyce: Dear MoonParent, it is time to take a long
vacation from meddling in your children’s lives, especially the grown-up ones
being strangled by your apron strings. Keep this up and you’ll end up tossing
your cookies.
Leo Dream: I am King of Everything. I have a ginormous throne and a regal red robe
with white fur trim. But there’s no one there, just me! No servants, no
subjects, just echoes in the big palace. Everything glitters but I’m all alone.
Dr. Auntie Joyce: Take heart, dear Lion. It’s a performance
anxiety dream. These are the facts of life on stage—all the lights are on you,
everything glitters, but you’re on your own to be the entertainment. Do a good
job and the audience, invisible behind the footlights, will come to life, clap
and you’ll have your kingdom of fans restored. Don’t bomb …but just in case,
you can sell the robe on eBay.
Virgo Dream: I’m a social worker on probation in a new
job. I have to visit a certain home and take care of whatever these clients
need. It’s a test I have to pass to be permanent in my position. I knock at the
door. The Three Little Pigs answer! At first I’m taken by their cartoon
cuteness until they let me into their sty. The filth is unimaginable. The
biggest pig tells me the test is to clean the place to spotless without benefit
of disinfectant. I have to do the whole thing with soap, water, one rag and a
toothbrush.
Dr. Auntie Joyce: Germaphobic little Virgo, you have been
sniffing too many cleaning chemicals. You are having a Lysol reaction. You’re
drunk on the rubbing alcohol from all that hand sanitizer. This is affecting
your dreams in an adverse way. I prescribe a mud bath at a spa to get better
acquainted with the upside of dirt. Then we’ll do some sessions on lucid
dreaming. Maybe you can get back into this one and see if you can renegotiate
for two rags and a scrub brush.
What relationship advice will Dr. Auntie Joyce give to lovelorn Libra? Stay tuned tomorrow for her answer.
Photo Credits: Wild Dreams © Jessmine - Fotolia.com, Bubble
Head Man © rolffimages - Fotolia.com, Three Pigs © artisticco -
Fotolia.com
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