Anti-self

When I was a little girl my mother would tell me, “if you look at yourself in the mirror too long, you’ll turn into a monkey.” That thought flickered across my mind as I stood looking at myself in the full length floor mirror. It is one of those that you would see in a movie. Old timey looking. It has a base and sits in the floor. Adjustable, it can be moved back and forth slightly. I told myself, ‘some day when I get my own house, I’m owning one of them’. And I do.

I fluffed my hair and smoothed out my clothes. Ready for work. Ready to face another day. Chico barked as if to say, ‘you look fine’.

I bent over; patted his head before taking one last look to make sure there wasn’t tissue hanging out of my waist band or tooth paste on my chin.

When I turned to walk away, Chico set it up. You would have thought there was a cat in the room.

Upon turning back to face the mirror. There she was. Um, I was? A mirror copy of me. I moved to the left. She moved. I moved to the right. She moved. I opened my mouth to speak. She did the same. A mirror copy.

When I turned to the side, I noticed her back side was dark. So, she’s not a complete copy? Or was that a shadow?

Chico looked back and forth between the two of us. He was more confused than I was.

She pointed her finger at me. An independent action. I did the same. She reached the pointed finger at me. As our fingers got closer, yellow and orange sparks of light flew from our finger tips. This didn’t hurt it was more of a tingle. A tickling sensation. I drew my finger back sharply. But she didn’t. So I tried again. The closer we got, the more sparks flew. It was like putting to lit sparklers together and watching them burn down.

The tingling sensation remained constant.

When our fingers finally touched, we both disappeared in a flash of light.

I shot straight up in the bed gasping for air. Chico sat beside me at full attention. My finger was still tingling but it wasn’t glowing. I examined it with great care.

What had I ate for dinner? Nothing to cause such a dream.

At work, I’ve been listening to A BRIEF HISTORY OF TIME by Stephen Hawkins. On the way home, MAN IN THE MIRROR, by Michael Jackson was playing on the radio. I hummed it most of the afternoon. Think this had anything to do with my anti-self dream? 😉