The title might give away this post as less than touchy feely, or perhaps more so. (No, I am not talking about Jesus, though He is especially fond of you.) I had a whacked out dream last night, have gotten out of bed and staggered down here to write about it.
Yeah, I bet you want a picture of how hot I might be right now.
Seriously, this is me too early in the morning, sans the hot black stuff, no shower and before I am awake enough to be photographed. You asked for it.
Anyway, I recently read the book "Working in the Shadows" by Gabriel Thompson
I worked in a factory for a time, but it was what I called a "Princess Factory". It was well lit, we got breaks, listened to music, joked around with each other and the work in my area was super easy: feeding rolls of film (remember? Before digital cameras???) into a big machine and making sure they were 'spliced'. My gal pals and I called ourselves The Splice Girls. Yup. Pretty clever.
In my dream I was in a large building and Jillian Michaels (Biggest Loser trainer, just in case you live under a rock) had sort of taken it over. She rounded up everyone and it was kind of like she might kill us all. It was WEIRD. Of course, for all the Biggest Loser I have watched, I can see why I thought she might kill us. (I love to hate her during a Biggest Loser DVD workout! I am missing her this season and not even watching, tho I loooove Bob too.) I was inspired by her yelling and more recently her story of why she left Biggest Loser. But I was deeply afraid of her in the dream.
She ran us through the halls and then up some stairs, most of us were seriously confused and inappropriately dressed. I tried to call out to some oblivious folks hanging out as we passed by, "Jillian Michaels has taken us hostage! Help!" Only later to find they were all in on it helping her. For a minute I thought I was going to be thrown out for trying to get help, but then strangely relieved I was still "in" and I told her so. She said "That person on the show, that isn't me, THIS is ME." And our next place was a paint shop in the bottom of whatever the building was. It was about fifty people in a communal live and work environment, painting what looked like Legos. (This is NOT any kind of commentary or speculation on Legos or their paint, so Legos please do not sue me for my subconscious weirdness. I don't think they are painted anyway I think the plastic is colored.)
Jillian talked about the people we were seeing, that the paint they used was so toxic it created memory loss after just a few days or weeks of working with it. That is why they lived there too, to offer them 'support' as their lives changed. Jillian asked us to talk with some of the people, to look carefully at the work they were doing and not breathe in too deeply.
I remember feeling sick and mortified at their bland responses as a few of us asked them questions. One girl in our 'hostages' crowd began to totally freak out and threatened to kill all of us or herself over it. Extreme, but probably part of why when I woke up right here in the dream from my sweet daughter's coughing. I staggered down here in the dark at six a.m. to type.
I think part of me is the screaming woman, horrified at how I want to live and who I don't think of that provides that living for me. I immediately prayed to God about squelching my desire for shiny crappy things someone else worked too hard to make and in poor conditions. I do not think about that often. After this dream, I will be thinking about it a lot more.
Overseas Sweat Shops, Cheap labor for cheap products.
My deeply American desire for LOTS of things big, new and shiny: as long as they are also inexpensive.
I do not want to admit this. I do not want to face this in myself. I do not know what to do to make a difference.