Stalin and the Sewers

Dearest Rachel –

I rarely know what to make of things when I have dreams (nightmares?) about work and responsibilities. For one thing, it’s always dismaying that I see so much more of Mohinder and DJ than I do of you in my dreams, in any event. For another, there’s the fact that I’m almost always dealing with a responsibility that is something I’ve never had, and whose consequences for not attending to are more significant than anything that might have been had I slacked off on in real life.  at the same time, like the flagellant monk who enjoyed being able to stop, there’s a tremendous sense of relief when I wake up and realize none of this is anything that I really have to deal with. 

It actually began with what could’ve been a real life premise; that of a month-end having passed for which I neglected to complete an annual report to, I think, the federal government. We would occasionally have census forms like this, where trying to figure out the specifics of what they were asking were puzzling to all of us, and the deadlines weren’t particularly adequate in terms of ascertaining both what it was they wanted to know and how to find that particular data. At the same time I want to make clear that we never missed such a deadline, although there were times when we wondered if we had actually given them what they wanted, and whether there might be penalties in the future for having not done so.

Of course, this being mid-May (and having just wrapped up April‘s reports for the church and camp yesterday), I can see why this would’ve been on my mind, especially given that I haven’t been in town to work on certain such reports – although I’ve been able to take care of most of them remotely. Again, however, why this would be of any concern to Mohinder or DJ, and why I would be at that particular office is beyond me. I suppose my brain refuses to make what work I do presently out ofthe folks’ basement an issue for me, as I would never have such an issue with any supposed superior there, since 1.) I don’t deal with any superiors out of that office, at least on a face-to-face basis, and 2.) what dealings I do have are overwhelmingly cordial and rarely have any of the same level of instant urgency that much of my work at my old job had. Perhaps it has something to do with the fact that I’m not getting paid for my present work, and they know that anything getting done is beyond value for money, whereas Mohinder always made it clear to me that he thought I wasn’t doing an adequate job for what I was getting paid.

Now, what any of this had to do with a sewer break in the next suburb over from my folks’ place, I’ve no idea. This issue was a maybe a mile and a half to the east of there, between my old high school and the open air mall by our current church location. It’s possible that I had the ability to dispatch workers there, as an administrative employee, but in real life, that would’ve never occurred to me to have been my responsibility. Then again, that’s exactly what Mohinder used to berate me about; having an attitude of ‘that’s not my responsibility’ toward certain tasks, despite regularly putting in nine- and ten-hour days to accomplish the tasks that were my responsibility in a timely manner (extra time that I now wish I had back to spend with you). So I can see why this, too, would be part of a quasi-nightmare for me.

But where things really get absurd is where Comrade Stalin fits into the picture. It wasn’t spelled out to me in the moment, of course – that would be asking far too much of a dream – but I easily got the impression that I had probably made some sort of snarky comment about him. Let’s face it; even a non-historian could take a cursory look at his history, and while he was brilliant in terms of consolidating and holding onto power, he was an absolute idiot in terms of management and tactical ability. To be fair, we do seem to have analogues in this current day, although I will refrain from naming names at the moment. And now that I think about it, I’ve probably made some real life, snarky comments about those people, so who knows? Maybe I’m due to be called on the carpet for saying things against the Powers That Be.

However, I was meeting him en route to the job site, and he was, through the translator teletype machine, in a jovial and friendly mood as we went to survey the damage that needed to be attended to (and to which, at this point, crews had already been dispatched). Of course, I knew better than to let my guard down; a friendly Stalin was, if you’ll pardon the expression, a huge red flag. He was asking a few questions about this and that, including, for some strange reason, about something Germany seemed to have planned, to which I did react with a sort of “oh, I remember about this!” level of recognition from my limited historical studies – basically, I was being given the chance to warn him about Operation Barbarossa (and don’t worry about the time, travel anomaly, since any interaction between me and him would be a time travel anomaly. Although it does beg the question as to what things would have been like if he hadn’t been so paranoid about the sources who did warn him about that imminent invasion, and actually bothered to prepare his people for that).

In any event, I don’t think he got anything out of me, as far as what I might’ve made fun of him for in some past scene that wasn’t apart of this dream; at least, not before we arrived on the job site, and he was distracted from that line of inquiry. What was there was certainly enough to distract anyone; a hole at least ten or twelve feet deep, with several guys on a ladder already down in there, working on trying to find the leak. You could see and hear the water, but not tell where exactly it was coming from, or where the source of the issue was. But at some point, something went seriously, wrong, and a torrent of water poured out, sweeping the crew – as well as Stalin and I – down the road, at which point any friendliness in him rather understandably evaporated, although I still maintain that I had nothing to do with what happened.

Fortunately, at this point, I woke up, and discovered that it was barely after one in the morning yet again – I’m definitely still having issues with jet lag, which are not being helped by the fact that I fell asleep way too early in the evening as well – and I found myself going over so many of the ridiculous aspects of the dream, and why none of it should concern me. However, on this side of lucidity, it occurs to me that you might find some of its aspects as amusing as I do, and so I thought I would share it with you as long as it was so fresh and vivid in my mind.

I still wonder what it was that got him interested in questioning me directly like that. I know he was the sort to send a fellow to the gulag for merely having made fun of his mustache, so it could’ve been just about anything. I also rather wonder why my unconscious mind thought any of this was plausible in the first place; the fact that it must’ve seemed as such does border on nightmare territory, if not the usual sorts.

Anyway, I’m not sure whether and how I’m going to get back to sleep for the moment, so I will, as usual, ask you to keep an eye on me, and wish me luck. I think I’m going to need it.