I was traveling with an ex-girlfriend — who over the course of the dream would be a mash-up of multiple ex-girlfriends and an ex-wife — and were waiting for a shuttle bus to take us to the airport. I sat at a bench in the waiting area, but she chose to cross the street so that she could smoke a cigarette — something she never did in real life. We also never traveled together in real life, but that’s a story for another dream.
At length, a work colleague heading for the same airport accosted me, and we sat down and chatted. My ex-girlfriend paced nervously across the street, and I tried to determine whether this was impatience over the tardiness of the shuttle, or some sort of jealousy that I actually had acquaintances beyond her orbit.
My friend handed me a music CD, and via the magic only possible in a dream, the music began playing all around us.
“This is good,” I observed. “Who is it?”
“It’s me,” he replied, “from quite a long time ago.”
“Before you started working for Fidelity?” I asked.
“No,” he replied, a little embarrassed, “it’s really just a hobby I’ve picked up.”
Meanwhile, my ex-girlfriend’s pacing accelerated to a point where it was noticeable to anyone who cared to look. A shuttle employee coyly hung a sign next to her that read “Next shuttle: 40 minutes.” She freaked out.
At the top of her lungs, she began singing in a strangely accented, off-key voice “Just tell me you’re coming at midnight so I can say goodbye to my sanity…”
She sang this nonsensical refrain over and over again, at increasing volume, until everyone within earshot stopped to stare at her. Naturally I was dumbfounded, but I didn’t know how or if to respond.
“Do you know her?” my friend asked.
“No,” I replied.