Stressful dream about not mattering

I had a dream last night that our house got broken into.

It wasn’t our actual house, but a 2 story similar to ours in a different city; Boston perhaps. It was after dark, raining, and Doc and I were at a party a few blocks away. I had walked home to get something from the house.

As I came out of the upstairs bedroom, I realized that there was someone else in the house. Then I saw a person walking up our stairs, wearing a blue velour track suit. I started screaming, “GET OUT! Out! Now!” The intruder casually turned around, almost as if he hadn’t even heard me, went back down the stairs, and walked out the front door. I chased after him.

When I got outside, I realized that he was actually a she. She was laughing and hollering back to someone else who was still in the house. I ran back inside and confronted a short quiet man who had a ziploc bag that had a few pieces of Jamieson’s toys and a few broken video games. He showed it to me and said, “I’m just going to take this.” I said, “Seriously? Come on, man!”, pretending that the things he was taking were important to me so that he’d think he’d really scored and leave.

Then two more intruders appeared, and soon all four of them were sitting on the sofas and chairs in our front room, talking and laughing. I finally came to my senses enough to call 911 but I was on hold for an extremely long time. After 5 or 10 minutes, I figured out that something must be broken with the 911 system; I called back, got through immediately, and explained the situation, but a police car never came.

That’s about all I can remember. Jamie woke me up from this stressful dream about 3 a.m. and I was quite glad.

I’m pretty sure this was not about being afraid our house will get burglarized; it’s about being afraid that I am ineffectual and slow. Truth hurts.