Pretentious even when dreaming, with a side order of self-deprecation
I was in bed when the phone rang. Somehow it did not seem implausible that famous psychologist, stepfather of the unconscious and proponent of dream analysis Carl Jung would choose me to talk to when he finally broke 45 years of deathly silence.
I was proud, but also terrified. What would I say to one of Western history's most prominent thinkers? Too much, I thought and let it ring.
But Jung was nothing if not persistent. Not only could he make calls from the other side, he also possessed mystical powers that enabled him to change the contact information saved in my phone.
First he appeared in the guise of Psyche, the beautiful mortal who traveled down a long and winding road, and ended up deified and married to love-god Cupid. Still, I was not duped by Jung's devious trickery.
Next he called as Odysseys: Adventurer, ladies man and Trojan war-hero. Then as Xantippe, Socrates' sharp-tongued wife, and as Don Quixote, windmill-fighting dreamer.
When the display read "incoming call from Marquise Isabelle de Merteuil"; Glenn Close's tragic and manipulating character from "Dangerous Liaisons", I decided to pick up.
After all, Jung had nothing to do but pester me, for the rest of eternity.
My voice trembled: -Hello? I expected a revelation of wisdom, to be forever changed by the professor's profound words.
He asked if I was Tonje. I confirmed.
Not really understanding his next question, yet trusting that he had a brilliant, concealed plan that I was unequipped to fathom; I suffered shock, disappointment and humiliation when he pantingly asked:
-What are you wearing, baby?
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lurechia myn...
