Descent into Hell

During one of the presentations last Thursday, Cave Group 1 discussed dreams as a descent into hell. I thought it was a compelling idea. But, you see, I rarely have bad dreams. When the presenters asked us to write down a memorable dream, I wrote about the dream I remembered from the previous night, in which there was a St. Bernard in bed with me and I was reading Wuthering Heights to him. Nothing special. But then, 5 minutes ago, I woke up from one of the weirdest, most terrifying dreams I've ever had.

It started out with me going to a very large auditorium with the kids I TA for in Hinduism. I knew I was at school, but it certainly wasn't MSU. In the dream, I think I thought I was in Gaines or something. Anyhoo, Bart Scott, the new religion professor walked in and began to lecture about something that wasn't Hinduism. I think it was more something like American history and British Romanticism. Not Hinduism. In the middle of  class, for some reason, I got up and walked out and Bart followed me up a very ornate staircase. The whole way he was lecturing me in a very menacing voice. I don't remember most of what he said, but, towards the top of the staircase he accused me of plagiarizing a paper and that he hated me more than he hated my pitiful analysis of Wuthering Heights (it's a theme in my dreams lately). Then there was a fountain and I got into this elevator that went down so fast that I was lifted off my feet and I hit my head on the ceiling. I turned myself into the dean of students or some such, who looked like Dolores Umbridge, but didn't act like her. She took pity on me and told me my punishment was to redecorate Sears, but it was really optional. Then she gave me a bunch of Barbra Streisand dolls.

Very strange. I'm thinking it all means that I'm terrified of not citing things enough or correctly. And that I'm secretly afraid Bart hates me. And that I dislike Sears and I subconsciously think it needs a make over.