📺 Episode 5: I Entered a Dreamscape Through My Dishwasher and Now I'm Stuck in a Reality TV Show About My Childhood




 It began, as many Tuesdays do, with a cryptic blinking light and a dishwasher whispering Nietzschean riddles.

“Is it ever truly clean,” it murmured, “or have you just rearranged your mess into acceptable patterns?”

Carl, unfazed, was in the corner weaving a dreamcatcher out of unpaid bills and forgotten passwords, muttering about bandwidth and betrayal. He glanced up briefly.

“She’s awakening,” he said—not me, but the dishwasher. “You should go inside before it becomes a portal to your repressed adolescence.”

I blinked. “Before?”

He nodded solemnly and offered me a spoon dipped in turmeric. “For courage.”

The dishwasher creaked open, revealing an interior glowing with soft light and steamed nostalgia. The usual racks and soap pods had been replaced with a velvet staircase and the faint sound of children singing a vaguely accusatory lullaby.

With the resignation of someone who’s already journaled about this twice, I stepped in.

Scene One: “This Was Your Life (Now in Syndication)”

Suddenly, I was standing under a spotlight in the center of a studio designed to look like my middle school cafeteria—complete with flickering fluorescents and the unmistakable scent of damp mozzarella sticks.

Floating above me, a screen lit up with the show’s title:
THIS WAS YOUR LIFE: REBOOTED & RAW

Carl’s voice boomed from nowhere and everywhere.
🎤 “Welcome, contestant! Your traumas have been digitized for broadcast clarity! Let’s meet your judges!”

From a swirling mist of locker-room fog emerged:

  • Mr. Halverson, my gym teacher-turned-psychological life coach

  • Melissa, my emotionally elusive ex wearing a power blazer made of diary pages

  • And Volcano Steve, my 3rd-grade science project (yes, that baking soda disaster), now sentient and aggressively glowing

Carl floated down in a cloud of Post-it notes and hummus dust, wearing a suit stitched from childhood artwork and expired library cards.

He tossed glitter in the air and smiled.
“Let the emotional talent show begin!”

Round One: Interpretive Dance of Avoided Conversations

I was handed a scarf made of old texts I never responded to and asked to express “what I really meant when I said ‘no worries’.”

Melissa gave me a 6/10 for passive-aggressive grace.

Volcano Steve growled, “She still represses the mayonnaise incident.”

I didn’t even remember the mayonnaise incident.

That’s when Carl announced, “Coming up next: ‘Defend Your Life Choices’… against your teenage self.”

Round Two: You vs. You

I sat across from a dramatic version of 15-year-old me—side bangs, eyeliner, a shirt that said "Existentialism is Sexy."

“You gave up on painting,” Teen Me said, arms crossed. “You also ghosted that guy who made you playlists. We liked him.”

“I was scared,” I said. “And tired.”

She shrugged. “You used to be mystical. Now you’re just mildly whimsical.”

Volcano Steve burped lava and declared, “Self-worth: still undercooked.”

Carl passed me a smoothie labeled: Denial: Now in Lavender Matcha Flavor.

Kitchen Confessional: Toaster Edition

Inside a glowing toaster confessional booth, I was asked to rank my regrets in order of emotional calories.

I whispered, “I regret every time I tried to be more digestible for someone else.”

The toaster dinged and printed a receipt:
“You tipped everyone but yourself.”

Carl wiped a tear. “Even the blender’s crying, and he hasn’t felt emotion since the zucchini incident.”

Final Round: Trial by Blender

The studio darkened. The blender—the sentient one that only speaks in conspiracy theories and Enneagram types—rose on a pedestal.

“Welcome to the smoothie of truth,” it purred. “Choose your base: Shame, Nostalgia, or False Confidence.”

I chose nostalgia.

It whirred, hummed, and blended something luminous. Then, in a voice eerily like my kindergarten teacher’s, it asked:

“What memory do you keep polishing like silverware even though it cut you?”

I answered without thinking: “The moment I thought someone finally understood me... but they were just projecting.”

Carl clutched his blender co-host badge and shouted, “She’s unlocked level three of inner knowing!”

The blender beeped. “You may now exit through the cycle of rebirth.”

Rebirth via Rinse & Steam

The dishwasher glowed. I stepped out into my kitchen again. The lights had dimmed themselves, respectfully.

Carl handed me a cup of herbal tea brewed from chamomile, lavender, and unresolved attachment styles.

He pointed to the wall where he’d rearranged the spice rack labels:

  • Basil: Boundaries are not mean

  • Cinnamon: Your softness is not a weakness

  • Thyme: Stop waiting for closure; start closing

I sat down at the table.

The dishwasher burbled.

The fridge sighed.

And the blender whispered:
“It’s okay to eat leftovers from your past—just don’t keep reheating them hoping they’ll taste different.”

Teaser for Next Week’s Episode:

🍄 Episode 6: Mushrooms Gave Me Relationship Advice and Now I Can’t Eat Risotto Without Crying

Carl makes risotto. The mushrooms begin to speak. One calls me out on my attachment style. Another makes me text my ex.
Spoiler: I confess my feelings to a portobello. It does not go well.

🌀 Stay emotionally sautéed, my friends.

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