Skip to content

4 Dreams: 4.24.15

April 24, 2015

I haven’t remembered more than one dream, that made any sense at all, in weeks. I slept in today though. I made notes about the first 2, fell back asleep, had the other 2.

+++

#1.

Meeting up with TK and AK, 30 years after mooning over them in high school. I’m recounting for our mutual amusement the things I said about them back then, drawing out syllables for comic effect:

Red hair!

Blue eyes! [motioning to A, to my left] Green eyes! [motioning to T, on my right]

Tall!

Brilliant!

Gorgeous!

 

In the dream, Tony had reddish curly hair, which was thinning on top. (I don’t remember what Adam’s hair looked like.)

+++

#2.

Included inside cards I have that depict an artist’s tapestries in bold colors like red, I wrote and mailed a heartfelt letter to Tony, and another one to Adam, telling them how much they’d meant to me over the years.

On the envelope, I included my POB return address.

After I mailed them, I half-worried that they’d respond just to tell me to buzz off / get a life.

Waffled about listing even my POB, but of course, they’d already gone out.

Decided I’d written the letters for myself, so it didn’t matter what they replied, or if they replied at all.

+++

#3.

A lot of people I follow on Twitter, mostly women, were posting links to their Tumblrs showing photos of themselves from various angles, clothed and unclothed. There was some kind of theme to it, possibly National Breast Cancer Awareness Day (if there is such a thing).

I wanted my sister to take a photo of me so I could post my own link — I’d be nude, kneeling, and she’d shoot from above me, looking down. (I’d seen someone else’s version, and liked it.)

I hadn’t actually checked my breasts for lumps, which was somehow the whole point of the photos. I just wanted a cool nude portrait of my body, to help me love it as it is.

My sister insisted on checking my breasts for lumps. In the dream, my breasts were much more voluptuous than they are or have ever been — maybe a C, or even a D, cup.

No lumps.

But then my sister balked at me posting the (so far untaken) photo. She worried that some asshole guy was going to see it, somehow track me down for the purpose of assaulting me, simply because that photo of my naked body existed.

I thought that was really unlikely.

Also, I really wanted to be part of this Collective Thing that was happening. Even though I’m not solely a woman, and wasn’t as young as most of the people doing it, this was something I could do.

+++

#4.

I was carrying around a scoop of chocolate ice cream in a cup. I wanted to go to an ice cream store, and get a scoop of coffee ice cream to add to it. My brother D agreed to come with me.

When we got there, there was the usual counter with lots of flavors, but behind it, there was a bank of people in an open-office arrangement. I somehow knew they were working on database stuff. One of them in the middle, a handsome youngish black man, hailed me by a name (not my own), then offered me a free scoop “since it’s your birthday”. (It wasn’t my birthday either.) The room was really noisy, so I figured I must’ve misunderstood something, but I didn’t want to cause a fuss, so I said, “sure, that’ll be great”.

Suddenly suspicious of me, a different clerk asked me and D for proof of my name. I didn’t have any identification with me. D pulled a binder out from behind his back; papers within suggested his last name was Hamilton, which he showed the clerk. The clerk somehow decided my first and middle initial were N and J. My brother was going to protest, but I shook my head, whispering to him, “for this place, I’ll just be . . . Nora . . . James . . . Hamilton. It’s like a pen name. It’ll be fun.”

(In the dream, I was thinking “Nora” as a nod to SFF author N. K. Jemisin.)

There was a flurry of activity for a while, which kept me from eating my ice cream. When I remembered to go back for it, it was mostly melted. I ate it anyway.

It wasn’t very tasty, which I mentioned in a disappointed way to D. He said that meant that I was bored with my life right now, and he was certainly bored with his.

I lit up with relief: “But boredom’s a good thing! When you’re bored, and you don’t ignore it, you (can) come up with good ideas to change things up! It can be really fertile creatively!”

+++

NOTES:

#1.

Real-Tony is tall: iirc, 6’4”. I think real-Adam is around 6’, maybe 5’11”. Real-Adam is likely smarter than real-Tony, but both were smart. Not sure I’d call either of them “brilliant”, though. They were both good-looking.

However, neither of them ever had red hair (they were blond), and they both had brown eyes. Their hair was not curly at all.

But I had a red hair as a kid. And my hair is wavy/curly. My eyes are blue-green.

So… I guess these are 2 of my male aspects, the ones I’ve been wondering where they went.

And… it is true that I tried to “banish” dreaming about TK and AK — because I kept defaulting to thinking that my ongoing dreams meant I was hung up on the real people, 30 years on.

The 3 of us were having a lot of fun in this dream though.

Which is actually kind of weird, because usually, I’m in fact “mooning over” them, and/or chasing them around, and they’re ignoring me, or trying to avoid me.

Something has changed. For the better.

+++

#2.

Red, for me, is a masculine color.

This dream is odd because… after seeing real-Tony (for the first time in ~15 years) at a class reunion in 2000, I actually did write to him (but not to his brother). While I may have told him how much he’d meant to me (I don’t remember if I did or not), my main reason for writing was… stressful enough that it overshadowed everything else.

{Oh, this is so dumb, I can’t believe I did it. I don’t know what I thought this was going to accomplish.}

I wrote to Tony to ask him if Adam (whom I’d dated) had known, when he was refusing to take my calls, and running out of church to avoid saying hello to me in 1985, after I returned from OKC (in despair and defeat), that my cousin had been torturing and assaulting me. That I really could have used, if not a friend, than at least one person who had known me before I went to OKC and actually still cared about me as a person.

I did put a return address on it.

{Of course, like any stressful-subject letter I’ve written to someone whom I’m not sure has any interest in hearing from me, I disguised my handwriting, so he wouldn’t just throw it out unread.}

Of course, Tony never responded.

I’m very very good at writing letters that get no response.

= = =

Back to my dream, though.

If dream-Tony and dream-Adam are actually aspects that dream-me wrote, in good faith, Special Letters to, then… even more stuff has changed.

What does unconscious-me know about these 2 male aspects that conscious-me doesn’t? Why are they so special?

+++

#3.

I’ve been taking self-portraits for years, although most of them are me-in-shadow, or me-in-reflection.

But in the last few months, I’ve been taking nude self-portraits. Partly, indeed, so I can love my body the way it is. Partly because, as a bricoleur I work with the materials easily at hand, and what is more accessible than my own self. Partly because my post-menopausal body is an undiscovered country that I want to explore.

When Spouse takes portrait photos of people, he Photoshops out all the things he’s sure they don’t see in their own mind’s eye when they picture themselves.

I’ve used Photoshop before, but not to do stuff like that.

I am not going to “correct”, from these self-portraits, rolls of fat, wrinkles, skin blemishes, stray hairs, calluses on my feet, etc. These photos depict what I really look like. If I could only love an idealized / “cleaned up” version of me, that’s not love, is it?

= = =

I haven’t shown these photos to anyone, even Spouse. They’re just mine for now.

The fear of dream-sister that I would be assaulted, I think has to do with how invisible and unattractive social-me feels these days.

Something I only just now recalled… the cousin who assaulted me, before things were as bad as they got, he did tell me, often, that I was ugly and totally unattractive. That if I wanted to have sex, I should put a bag over my head so I wouldn’t gross out my partner.

When this was happening, I was 18, and the prettiest I have ever been. But I believed him. Guys had started telling me I was disgusting and had defective looks when I was 12. They escalated when our classmates started going through puberty, and I didn’t.

I started wearing a bra at age 13, not because I needed it, but because I thought maybe then they’d shut up and leave me alone. Didn’t work.

Women teachers looked the other way as this torment happened in class. But on the playground, with no adults around, truly vicious things were said to me.

Nobody cared. I was a non-person. I was nobody at school, and nobody at home.

= = =

Why did I have bigger breasts in the dream?

My dressform has big breasts! I needed a size 14 because of my (broad) shoulders, waist and hips, but my bust size is more like a size 8 (or even a 6).

True story: when I unpacked it from the boxes, and saw how big the breasts were, I felt outclassed by my own dressform. I’d been dreaming of having one, so I could make my own garments, for years and years… and now that I finally had one, it had a “better” body than me. I covered it up for months because I felt like it, too, was mocking me for being inadequate and ugly.

So maybe taking the nude portrait to post publicly was dream-me’s way of healing from some of this body image trauma?

Maybe it’s time to let go of hating how I look?

+++

I registered for 3 interesting classes at the local community college. Two of them — 2 different types of dance classes — were supposed to start this month. They were both cancelled for lack of enrollment.

I have a positive genius for picking classes no one else signs up for, and are therefore cancelled.

I’m hoping the 3rd class might could go forward, but…

I don’t really know what else to try, honestly.

I intend to take a ceramics class later this year. And possibly a poetry class at TWC.

Advertisements
No comments yet

Leave a Reply

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

WordPress.com Logo

You are commenting using your WordPress.com 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 )

Google+ photo

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

Connecting to %s

%d bloggers like this: