Kane Kaiman is a graduate of Cedarburg High School. There, he scored a 5 on his AP Psychology test, giving him the authority to interpret the dreams of all humans and some of the earth’s more intelligent mammals. His input was critical to the success of the blockbuster film “Inception,” which is loosely based on Kane’s life.
This week’s dream:
“In my dream, I was back in high school. I had just gotten out of class and went to a buddy’s house for some Friday-night drinks. Everybody was starting to get pretty drunk and was having a good time until I realized we had a hockey game that night. We rushed to the stadium and suited up, but upon getting on the bench I realized I had forgotten my skates. I was dying to get out on the ice, but I had no idea where they were. I ran back to the locker room and found nothing. My coach was furious and realized I was hammered. He called over the school officer—who had previously unjustly cited me for egging—and he handed me an underage-drinking ticket. I blew high numbers but didn’t think I was that drunk. I couldn’t imagine how mad my mom would be. Then I woke up, extremely relieved.”
—Dalton Brown, sophomore
One-hundred percent accurate interpretation:
I did a three-year stint as combined team psychiatrist and equipment manager for the Saskatchewan Roughriders of the Canadian Football League, and it was one of the most draining experiences of my career.
One moment I’d be hard at work hand-washing 55 triple XL jock straps and the next I’d be holding a sobbing 300-pound lineman in my arms. Ultimately, unlimited access to the team jacuzzi wasn’t worth the emotional roller coaster ride, and my time with the Roughriders came to an abrupt conclusion when I made my way back across the U.S.-Canadian border in the middle of the night, tail between my legs.
I mailed my resignation to coach Murphy the next day from a Post Office in Williston, N.D.
But that was a long time ago, and I specifically chose your dream from a pool of over 300 emails because you seriously need my help.
Contact-sport athletes are always having dreams like this: the quarterback forgets his helmet; the boxer misplaces his gloves. It all stems from one thing: the concussion.
I’d be willing to bet that you got thrashed out there on the ice regularly. The big kids, years ahead of you in the puberty department, tossed your puny body headfirst into the boards on a daily basis.
Your swollen subconscious pleaded within your sleep back then.
“Forget your skates one of these days, Dalton. Our brain needs at least a 24-hour break from violently slamming into our skull!”
But it was no use. You were too punchy to remember your dreams in the morning.
Your battered gray matter has had some healing time since you hung up your skates for good after high school, but there’s no doubt in my mind that new head trauma has triggered a resurfacing of this particular dream.
Check your head for any bruises or bumps.
Now, let’s examine the details.
Socializing with your friends almost caused you to miss your
game completely, and that represents the guilty feelings you associate with having fun.
When you’re drinking with your friends, the worst-case scenario is always at the back of your mind (in this case the drinking ticket).
My overall recommendation is that you relax and let loose guilt-free every once in a while, but not for at least four to six weeks. The combination of alcohol and the head trauma I mentioned before could result in your falling asleep and never waking up. Other than that, I’d say you should invest in some form of helmet. You might get made fun of by the other children at school, but at least it will help you preserve your ability to dream, which, by my estimation, you’re two concussions away from losing.
P.S. The fact that you thought about your mother in this type of dream has some deeply disturbing Freudian implications that are not appropriate for discussion in a newspaper.
Have a dream you want Kane to interpret for you or someone you know? Email him at kaiman@wisc.edu for his absolutely 100 percent factually accurate advice.
