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Dream: 4.6.15

April 7, 2015

I’m clothes shopping with my mother. We’re at a boutique, looking at blouses and lingerie. {The only colorway I distinctly remember was a camisole of a complex shade of sort-of-peach (I wish I could think of a better name for it — it was a pretty color) silk, with ivory lace trim.}

I come out of the dressing room, and on a table in front of me, my mother has set out a row of bras for me to try on. I’m struck by how pretty they are — generally bras for A cups are boring and plain, but these are really pretty. The one I liked the best, couldn’t stop looking at even, was white with little purple flowers.

The thing is, I don’t wear bras, and my mother knows that. I tell my mother, “I will never ever ever wear a bra. I mean ‘ever’! You know, like the Taylor Swift song. I’m so glad she wrote that song — I keep finding things to sing it about!” (I wonder to myself if my mother knows who Taylor Swift is.)

My mother is disappointed, but does not badger me.

As I walk away from the table, and down the hall, leaving this store, I think to myself, “I could come back to this store, later, by myself, and at least try on the pretty white-and-purple-flowers bra. I don’t have to buy it! But I could make up my own mind, how I feel about it today.”

= = =

I’m off by myself in the mall. I bring a bunch of clothes to a circular dressing room, whose walls are mirrored inside and out. Very Space Age looking. The doors are odd, but I get them locked. I’m having more fun disrobing in there than I am trying on the clothes… I don’t end up liking any of the clothes.

At some point, after I’m dressed again, a guy I don’t know somehow opens the door and strides in. I’m gobsmacked.

I somehow get him back over by the door, but he won’t leave. I start to be worried/scared.

= there’s a blip in the dream =

Now there is an office full of people just across from my dressing room, and somehow the presence of those people scares off the guy who’d been menacing me.

I enter their office (also Space Age looking) to talk to them. There’s at least 3 people, maybe more, but my attention is riveted by the central figure: a medium stature man in his 30s, dark hair and eyes, a big nose, not unattractive. He’s Iranian, and he starts telling me about his recent trip to Georgia (the former Soviet territory, not the US state), where he was taking Lithuanian lessons. A woman who looks Eastern European, with tawny hair, curly, walks up to us, and says she’s been taking Polish classes at CCBC. Suggests I might like to do that.

I tell the Iranian guy that I thought I’d recognized that he was Iranian “because I’m following a bunch of Iranian people on Twitter”.

= there’s a blip in the dream =

Now there’s an office with just 2 nerdy guys in it, and they’re the ones whose presence scared off the menacing guy. The 2 guys are deeply in conversation, which I don’t want to interrupt, but I do want to thank them. They finally stop talking, and I take a breath to say something, when I look up and see my mother standing in the doorway, clearly waiting for me. I hurriedly thank them, and rush over to join her. I think about apologizing for “taking too long”, but I don’t do it, nor does she comment. I notice it feels good that I did not apologize, nor explain anything. We walk off together.



I have not worn a bra since high school. For years and years, I wore camisoles, sometimes silky, sometimes cottony; nowadays, if I wear anything underneath, it’s stretchy tank tops.

I think this part of the dream has to do with how I don’t feel entirely happy with my clothes, how they look on my body, how other people perceive me in them. The blouses, the camisoles, the bras… they were all pretty. They looked pretty, but, more importantly, they felt pretty on my skin.

It’s also possible this was more literal, and telling me I need undergarments that feel good on, make me feel… happy when I wear them. Because it’s true that I haven’t worn any undergarment that makes my skin and my heart happy in a long, long time. Maybe that’s where (at least) part of my garment dysphoria is coming from?

I’ve been thinking I have to solve the garment problem/issue from the top down/outside-in, but maybe the dream is saying it should be from the bottom up/inside-out?

= = =

There is a situation, no, 2 situations, in my social life that I have recently found myself singing that Taylor Swift song about.

= = =

I’m following at least 1 Iranian person on Twitter this time, and I had been following 2 Iranian people last time. All women though.

= = =

It might actually be possible to take Polish language classes at CCBC. Historically, the idea of learning Polish was mildly interesting, mostly because of Poland’s proximity to Lithuania. But if I want to translate poetry… (and I do want to translate poetry) then maybe my perspective on the whole issue needs updating.

There’s a whole population of Lithuanians in and around Catonsville. I wonder if I could find someone to tutor me? Something? Lithuanian language school on Saturdays? How do the immigrants, or maybe their kids, teach their own kids the culture?

Because… there was this whole THING where I begged my parents for Lithuanian language lessons when I was 12. My mother said if I “behaved myself” and “was a good kid”… until I was 15(!), then I could go to Maria H.S., or the University of Chicago, and learn Lithuanian from the nuns. I was so excited, omg. And I managed to be a really good kid for 3 fucking years. And then… on my 15th birthday, Gramma gave me an English-Lithuanian dictionary, which I thought was because my dream was coming true! Except it wasn’t, didn’t. She didn’t know anything about Lithuanian lessons, and my mother apparently “forgot” they had ever been promised, and I was too heartbroken to pursue it.

= = =

My unconscious has been having a field day with this Lithuanian stuff: this is the 6th dream in 7 days to deal with something Lithuanian.

I had a conversation in my mind with my (long-dead) maternal grandfather during my walk in the woods Monday, in which I noted that, if my writing ever becomes “known”, it could be as a transgender Lithuanian-American writer, and how about that?

(Technically, Lithuanian-Irish-American, I suppose.)

The glacier in my heart is starting to melt: I’m having All The Feelings right now.

= = =

My parts/aspects are navigating treating each other with respect. Ups and downs, of course, but I’m making tons of progress.


I like my body, but I don’t (yet) know how to dress it, to reflect my new understanding of myself. Whenever I say anything to myself about “garment dysphoria” or any of those types of issues, some part of me sneers that I’m being shallow: aren’t there More Important Issues to grapple with? But you know, I don’t think there are, for me, right in this moment. Parts of me have been waiting, patiently and not so patiently, all my life for the Right Time to consider these things. I think it’s here and now.

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