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Dream elements: 4.22.2015

April 22, 2015
  • New Mexico.
  • “Camp” for women creatives (but not AROHO).
  • Meandering
  • K came to visit me; I kept thinking others of my family would appear at any moment, but they didn’t.
  • I got a massage. I expected it to cost +/- $20, but it was actually $3.13. I gave the masseuse $9, in camp scrip.
  • Driving my car, noticing stuff was off-kilter: the seat was now on the floor. I took it to an auto shop at the camp to get it fixed.
  • Shopping for new clothes at a consignment shop. The clerk was putting out new merchandise (robes), just ahead of me.
  • 2 cute young gay guys behind me, both Japanese-looking, 1 with reddish hair. (Wasn’t sure if they were friends, or a romantic couple.)
  • C, disappointed about something.
  • I had a disagreement with K, and walked away, saying, “I don’t like you very much right now.” She’d been enjoying condescending to me during our argument; she was shocked that I left. She followed me, trying to persuade me to come back, but I wouldn’t. Later, we reconciled, near a purple couch, and hugging her felt really good.
  • Someone talking about the Sandias & me tearing up.
  • Later, the mechanics presented me with a bouquet of Queen Anne’s Lace greenery, in a mason jar, filled with water. It was heavy, so heavy I almost couldn’t carry it. Receiving it felt like the Best Gift Ever — these people were clearly people who understood


From the geology I remember, the camp looked like it was situated in northern NM, but it wasn’t Ghost Ranch. Or maybe it was a part of NM I haven’t been to (which is most of the state).

I felt out of place with the other women at the camp, invisible almost.

Unsure if the “meandering” was physical movement, or a symbolic reference to me.

I think some of my aspects are figuring out if main-me is trustworthy, finally, or not.

I’ve only ever had a massage as part of physical therapy, after an injury; never just for pleasure.

With the driver seat now on the floor, I wasn’t quite tall enough to see over the dashboard consistently. The car was also harder than usual to control for some forgotten reason.

The colors of the robes were vibrant and unusual. I was very attracted to them, but also remembered I have a robe at home.

When I turned around and saw the 2 young guys behind me, I smiled at them, at how cute they were.

Yesterday, I was thinking about how, in healthy relationships, people can disagree with each other, and even argue, and… it’s not the end of the world. It’s not bedrock-essential for one person to dominate the other, yell and carry on, and then insist the other person grovel to them. Reasonable people… act reasonably towards each other. I’m still struggling with this concept, 40 years after my childhood, because… with friends, we didn’t openly disagree about significant issues, so I never saw/felt/experienced how reasonable people manage their values coming into conflict, and hurt feelings. The only mental models I have, still, are screaming and insults and unforgivable things said. But this dream interchange? Dream-me was putting into practice all the advice I’ve been reading from Captain Awkward: state your boundaries, then get up and walk away.

The mountains in northern New Mexico are not related to the Sandias, according to what I’ve read. Not sure how or why central NM mountains would have been a topic of interest 100 miles away. (Or whatever.)

I like “weed” flowers as much as cultivated flowers. Queen Anne’s Lace has been a particular favorite of mine since childhood. And, they grew somewhere near my grandparents’ house, so that my affection for the flowers is tangled up in my affection for that slice of spacetime.


I don’t even really know what New Mexico means to me when I’m awake. Whenever I try to write about it, I can’t. It’s like it’s all behind a locked door that keeps changing its location. One particular night at Ghost Ranch, I stayed up most of the night writing up a storm about all sorts of stuff. And some NM-related stuff seeped out — I made notes, but it clearly wasn’t the right time for me to pursue all of that. Months later, I read those notes, and I didn’t remember writing any of it down, or what I’d been thinking/feeling that night. I think I might need to be in New Mexico to find the door, and the key.

= = =

Oh, gender. The mechanics in the auto shop were men and women. The creative women were, of course, women. The masseuse was a woman. The consignment shop clerk was a women. The 2 cute young gay men. K and C are both women. I don’t know what gender the person who talked about the Sandias was (which is really interesting, isn’t it?).

I wonder if some forms of “creativity” — less “tangible” ones, perhaps — are coded in my mental maps as being obligatory-feminine? Whereas, working with tools and machinery is more open?

I’m somewhat troubled/perplexed that so many of the dreams I’ve been having, for years now, feature almost-completely female characters. Because I know I have several, maybe a handful, of male characters; and way more characters whose gender is undefined. Where are all of those people?

Like, I feel uneasy in my own dreams, as they’re happening, when women outnumber everyone else (in this case) by, approximately 4:1.

I feel like a stranger in a strange land: no one is fluent in the language I would be speaking, if anyone was listening to me.

Which is why the gift of the QAL greenery fascinates me. How did the mechanics know that? Were they able to guess? They did research? What other options are there?

Tool using = weeds?

= = =

With real-K, the most-recent iteration of our relationship, I never even got to the point where I felt I could talk about almost anything personal. When, about little & impersonal things, I tried to talk directly about how I thought/felt, she (infrequently) agreed with me, but more often, she either was mystified by my reaction, or she tried to browbeat me into agreeing with her. When I wouldn’t budge, she escalated. During the call that I had a panic attack while she was hammering at me, I realized… this is never going to work.

But, I couldn’t quite bring myself to let go at that point. I had to keep trying to make it work, because Family.

If only there was some way to directly talk about problematic issues with relatives! But in my family, there isn’t.

However, with dream-K, the script played out differently. I behaved differently, and the world didn’t end.

Just reading the stuff on Captain Awkward, but not having anyone to practice new behaviors with => it’s much slower to make any real progress at changing what feels like something I can actually do. And yet… it’s happening.

= = =

The things with the car… Every car I’ve ever owned is like a seashell to a hermit crab. It’s my refuge. Whether it’s just that I need to escape the apartment itself, but I don’t have anywhere interesting to go, or there’s bad stuff at “home” I’m actively fleeing, or anything in between, my car isn’t just how I go, it’s where I go.

Even though in the dream, I couldn’t always see over the dashboard, I could still drive. I just… wasn’t in control of the car. [I hate the word and concept of ‘control’, but ‘manage’ does not fit the intensity invoked.] It felt dangerous to me. Not because I might crash, but because I didn’t know where I was going, and I couldn’t steer.

Have I been getting “off-track” in my Work somehow?

How do all of these elements relate to each other?

{Very dimly and through a glass darkly, I perceive… a gestalt. But I can’t yet grasp it.}

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