Last night, I dreamt I was getting ready for a family party. As I ran my hairbrush over the top of my head, my hair peeled off like a wig, leaving a bald, scabby patch. I shrieked and showed my sister, who said, “Yeah, that’s pretty bad. But you can probably comb your hair over to cover it up.” This morning, I asked the internet to interpret my dream. Here’s the general consensus:

“Another interpretation of the meaning of losing your hair in a dream is fear of losing control or feelings of helplessness. If you dream about losing your hair it could indicate that you are afraid of a situation in your life or that you feel powerless in a particular situation in your life.” (zeroinonnutrition.com)

Hmmm … You think?! 

Do you think I might “have a fear of losing control’ because I have been on lockdown in a three-bedroom apartment with my husband and cat for 14 weeks? We started “distance learning” in mid March. At first, I thought it sounded fun and easy, but I soon realized I would work harder and longer hours than I ever have in my career. I got emails from eighth graders at 10 p.m. wanting feedback on essays that were due at 8 a.m. the next day. At first, I refused. However, it didn’t take long to figure out those teens slept late and worked in the evenings. If that’s what their pubescent brains and bodies needed, I had to play along. I felt gloomy and lonely and hopeless. Finally I stopped wallowing and started getting up earlier to practice yoga. Nothing crazy, just a gentle morning wake-up practice. I felt the transformation right away. I faced each day with a little more optimism, a little less self-pity. Yet, there was no denying I was trapped with an introvert (my husband) and a narcissist (my cat). Both needed a lot of attention, but neither had the skill set to fill my emotional void.

Do you think I am “afraid of a situation in my life” because I am the poster child for Seasonal Affective Disorder, and South American winter is right around the corner? Tony and I had agreed to spend our “winter break” in Chile. We were relatively comfortable and safe. We could and did get whatever we needed delivered to our door: organic produce, beer and wine, groceries, a computer dongle, even two jigsaw puzzles. For a while, we could leave the building with our masks on, but the explosion of coronavirus cases in Santiago led to an extended quarantine. We had to go online for governmental approval to leave the house, which we did three times. It was no joke. I even got pulled over on my bike during one of my outings so the officer could confirm I had legitimate permission. As our beautiful sunny autumn turned gray and chilly, I visualized spending the next couple months in that apartment. I wouldn’t just be lonely and anxious. I would be lonely, anxious, and cold. Despite my reservations about traveling and hunkering down with Floridian covid-deniers, I impulsively got online and booked tickets to Orlando. 

Do you think I might feel “powerless” because I put my fate in the hands of a bankrupt airline? To be fair, the flight from Santiago to Miami on Latam Airlines impressed me. The flight attendants all wore masks and ensured passengers were able to maintain some personal space. Passengers were required to wear masks, and some went full hazmat. There was no drink service or complicated meal tray. We got a bottle of water and a tray of ravioli. I took off my mask to wolf down the food and then quickly put it back on. In Miami, we disembarked by row rather than crowding together in the usual crush to get off the plane. The airport felt relatively safe. Nearly everyone wore masks and seemed to avoid crowding together. After collecting our luggage, we were all funneled into a security area where officers completely unpacked our bags, presumably looking for drugs. I had forgotten about the Brita filters I brought home to recycle. They do look suspicious. The officer stabbed one with his knife, releasing a pile of carbon sand, and then politely encouraged me to repack and move on to my connecting flight. That was weird and stressful, but nonthreatening from a virus perspective.

Do you think I might have “feelings of helplessness” because I was getting on a plane with a whole lot of people who don’t seem to care about social distancing and wear their face masks more like chin guards? Once American Airlines started boarding for Orlando, I realized my sense of security was about to evaporate. About half the passengers wore masks; fewer wore masks correctly, actually covering their mouths and noses. I was wearing an N-95 medical mask with another cloth mask on top. Yes, two masks. While waiting for my group to board, I overheard a couple girls snickering behind my back. I turned around to see they were staring at me while wearing their own masks down around their lower lips. I wanted to yell, “I just traveled from a country with 167,000 cases and more than 3,000 deaths. I am terrified that I’m transporting this virus to Florida. I am double masking for you! You’re welcome!” I felt so deflated knowing that whatever I do to protect myself and others, I am at the mercy of these people who don’t take it seriously. 

Anyway, I am quarantining at my house in Florida, and it really is a lovely little place. I got up this morning for my usual yoga practice. I drank coffee outside, listening to the birds. I drove to Walmart for a non-contact grocery pickup, which was convenient and safe, much to my relief. I did a sudoku puzzle, worked on report card comments, scrubbed and refilled the bird bath, lounged outside with a book, Facetimed with a good friend, and called my sister to tell her about my dream. I’m about to pop some sweet potatoes in the oven. Life could be worse. 

Still, uncertainty is my nemesis. The website’s interpretation was spot on. And so, until life returns to some version of normal, I suppose I will wake from disturbing haircuts with a better understanding of why they haunt my dreams.