Skip to content

3 Dreams: 11.23.14

November 23, 2014


I’m at a really swanky hotel in Annapolis. There are lots of people in the lushly carpeted, chandeliers-glittering lobby, which is immense. And a lot of them are looking at me, and gawking, or laughing . . . because I am deliberately walking through this grand place completely naked except for my shoes.

I feel poised and confident (even when I briefly remember I haven’t shaved my legs in years).

A few brave souls ask me what I’m doing: I airily tell them it’s an art project. And it sort of is.



{I think this took place in the same Annapolis hotel, but I’m no longer naked.} I’m just a person milling around, looking for something to catch my attention. And something does.

Up on a large dais, 4 women in crowns and gowns are seated. The two leftmost ones seem to be an older mother (late 60s), and her grown daughter (around 50). Both women are white, and have pale mousy hair, with a bit of a wave, cut short, and plain, sturdy features. They are wearing muted colors and their dresses are unadorned. (By appearance they could be Lithuanian, or Eastern European.) The two rightmost ones are much younger, and also a mother and daughter, but the mother is maybe in her 30s, and her daughter is 8 or 10. They both have long dark and straight hair and look Japanese. They are both wearing emerald green satin, with white lace. They look like royalty, while the white sturdy women look like cleaning ladies all dressed up.

But when I listen to figure out what’s happening, the older of the white sturdy women really is a queen of somewhere. And while the woman who appears to be her daughter is her daughter, there’s also a possibility the woman in emerald is her daughter as well. They are doing some kind of genetic testing to find out if they really are related or not. If so, the woman in emerald will become the queen’s heir, and her young daughter, a princess.

I don’t know why the older daughter/sister is not in line for the throne. She seems a little nervous, as she banters uneasily with her mother. The mother and daughter in green just seem excited.

Later, though, I see the oldest woman on a float in a parade, passing by the hotel. This time she’s wearing a muted dark blue-and-silvery gown. I understand somehow that she has become queen in a way she wasn’t before; it’s like she succeeded herself.

I also somehow know that she is (now) asexual.



I’m in my 20s or so, and for some reason, I’m temporarily living with my parents, in a huge new house they’ve recently moved into, out in the backcountry of Maryland. For some other mysterious reason, my car is still back at their old place, so I’m trapped.

On this day, everyone in my family of origin is out working in the yard. It’s sunny but cold. I think it’s a Saturday in the autumn, because there aren’t many leaves on the trees.

No one is working very hard.

My mother comes up to me, tells me I have to mow the entire hill, and garden the bottom of the hill. It would take one person days to do all that work, but she expects me to finish before dinner. Or I don’t get to eat.

I do some of it. Then I go into the house. I’m in the huge room I share with my sister, worrying out loud about what my mother is going to do to me when I can’t finish before her deadline runs out. I dress myself in sturdy clothes.

I panic because my car is not here, so I can’t just drive away. If I set off on foot through the woods, I’d be hopelessly lost in five minutes. I don’t know what else I could do.

My mother enters the room, holding folded laundry in her arms. Like my real-life mother, she is much shorter than I am, but in this dream, she has longish straight brassy hair and dark eyes. I notice the cruelty in her beady eyes as she spits mean hateful things at me. She tells me I don’t “deserve” this big room with my sister; she orders me to find a smaller room somewhere else in the house.

I interrupt her rant to burst out with, “Mom, am I adopted? Was I switched in the hospital? Or maybe my real parents are space aliens? Haven’t you always wanted to tell me?” By now she is looking at me very strangely, but I’m in full spate; might as well go for broke. I continue: “if I’m not adopted, why is it you hate me? Why have you always hated me?” She sneers in disgust, but doesn’t answer. She leaves.

I start looking through the house for different rooms, to find one to move into. A very large square room is filled with toys; my two brothers have made it into a playroom. I keep going. Eventually I find a small-ish empty room near the garage. When I catch sight of my parents’ 2 green cars in the garage, I decide staying in that room would make it easier for my mother to terrorize me, so I move on. Later, I realized that maybe proximity to cars would actually make it easier for me to leave, so I go back to it. Like all the other rooms, it has white walls. But unlike the other rooms, it has shag orange carpet.

As I’m gathering my stuff together from my sister’s room, so I can move into the other room, I’m still worrying aloud about what my mother is going to do to me. My sister says, “while you’re here, you could go to school.” I briefly think, “Anne Arundel schools?” before despair washes over me, and I allow myself to fall into a faint. (Although I stay conscious long enough to turn my head, so my face and glasses don’t hit the floor first.)

When I rouse, I realize the house is actually in Prince George’s county. My sister is gone.




I’ve been to Annapolis (Maryland’s capital city) a bunch of times, and I really like it, but I’ve never been to any kind of hotel there.

I have, however, seriously thought about doing a writing weekend at a B&B there. Some place cozy, though, with great breakfasts; not a place I’d have to dress up for, and then feel intimidated by all the other guests.

In the dream, I was super skinny, which I no longer am. I was also wearing high heels (I don’t even own high heels).

I’ve never done performance art.



Two sets of mothers and daughters, each of whom physically resemble each other (but not the other set). I don’t look like any of them: my hair is salt-and-pepper, and I wear it short and spiky. I don’t think I’m as plain as the two older women, and I definitely don’t wear muted colors. But I don’t wear emerald green either, nor white lace.

If my mother ever doted on me — and I certainly don’t remember her doing so — it would have been when I was a baby. Pre-verbal, and when my personality was so still a mystery.

My mother and I do not physically resemble each other: I’m much taller, and I look Irish like my father. We do both have blue eyes, but mine are blue-green. My hair is wavy and (before it started going grey) dark brown with reddish highlights. My mother’s hair is stick straight; it was likely originally dark brown although throughout my entire life she always dyed it blonde so I don’t know for sure. It’s grey-blonde now.

If I was supposed to be a mixture of each of the 2 sets, why is one set Japanese? Plenty of people from other ethnicities have brown hair. For that matter, lots of Lithuanians have brown hair; lots of Irish people have brown hair.

What happened to the older daughter? Why was she not in line for the throne? What happened to the mother and daughter in green?

How did the queen succeed herself? Why would her sexual orientation be remotely relevant?

{{Dreaming about mothers and daughters — ew, eww, ewww. I am no longer a daughter, and I don’t really have a mother. Unconscious mind, get with the program already, sheesh.}



P’s office is in Prince George’s county, but I pass through Anne Arundel county (where Annapolis is) to get there.

P is nothing like my mother in real life, nor my mother in this dream.

The hill in the dream that I’m supposed to mow looks like the hill near our old apartment that was recently flattened, to make way for new condos. It makes me sick to see it when I drive by.

“sturdy” sure seems to be showing up in my dreams a lot lately.

My dream-mother looks like a fairytale witch, in a bad way.

I have always wondered those questions I asked her, but it has always seemed crazy/paranoid to actually ask. So I haven’t. Maybe there’s some other perfectly ordinary reason why my parents have treated me like I’m radioactive garbage.

My parents have never owned green cars. I have never seen cars the shade of green that the two in the dream were. They were very pretty. And very oddly-shaped, now that I think about it. More like European sports cars, which my parents have also never owned. (I have never owned a green car either.)

Why orange carpeting? Orange is my current favorite color though.

I don’t think I ever want to go to school again. I’m a lifelong learner, and I enjoy that very much, but I like doing it at my own pace, for my own reasons. And if I need to take a break from stuff, I can do that, without having to jump through hoops like dropping a class, or asking to withdraw, or asking for an incomplete, etc. I never have to worry about grades. I never have to convince someone else that whatever issues in my life are complicating my school life are actually serious. I never have to work myself up to asking help of or accommodations from people who are supposed to help me, but then they don’t want to, so they don’t. I don’t have to compete with students who know how to Play the Game (when I don’t, and can’t learn), and then watch cool stuff happen for them that doesn’t happen for me. I don’t want to watch everyone else making friends, often all around me in real time, while I’m . . . unable to make any.

I love learning. I love books. I love insights and epiphanies. I LOVE ideas.

I did not love school.

I have fainted before, but I never stayed conscious long enough to turn my head away. The last time I fainted, I did fall face-first into the street, and broke my glasses. (Along with a bunch of bones in various places. It was dire.)



I would like some cheerier dreams please.

No comments yet

Leave a Reply

Fill in your details below or click an icon to log in: Logo

You are commenting using your account. Log Out /  Change )

Google+ photo

You are commenting using your Google+ account. Log Out /  Change )

Twitter picture

You are commenting using your Twitter account. Log Out /  Change )

Facebook photo

You are commenting using your Facebook account. Log Out /  Change )


Connecting to %s

%d bloggers like this: