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Dreams: 1.27.19

January 27, 2019


CK has handed me a packet of photos from the Pacific Rim vacation he took with NN when she was in remission and well enough to travel, a year ago (before she died).  I’m marveling at the blue, blue-green waters, the lush greenery.

He walks away for a few minutes, and I come across 2 photos of my cousin RL, but… she’s got a mustache? And her hair is different? She’s wearing big bandaids on her face that are a cheetah-print, but in teal.

CK returns, and I riffle through his photos, so I can ask him about the photos of RL— did they, coincidentally, all happen to be in Fiji at the same time??! — but they’re nowhere to be found.

Doing that, though, I run across photos of CK and NN having playful sexytimes inside their cabin. I rush past those, apologizing, but he says I don’t need to be sorry. I’m still embarrassed, as if I invaded their privacy (even though he handed me the whole packet; even though… who snapped the photo?).


Later, CK and I are both in the back of a taxicab, and he is much taller than me, looming over me in fact. I would like to have a serious conversation with him, but the driver is blaring his music so loud I can barely think.      Still, I put my hand on my uncle, to catch his attention; when he turns to me, I say, “I sent you a note…” (To my surprise — it could not possibly have arrived already) He smiles a bit and says, “Yes, I read it, thank you.” I tap him, again, for emphasis. I say, “How are you? Really?”


Later, I want to stop the cab somewhere quiet, a park maybe, so we can really talk, but when I suggest that to the driver he says, “Lady, you’re the one who needed to get to their destination quickly; that’s why I’ve been driving so fast!” (This is not true.)

We’re now at the top of a hill, and I realize the grade is rather steep. I’m just thinking, “I would not feel safe driving that…” when the driver plunges the car down the hill, which adjusts itself as we drive so that it’s like an 80 degree angle. It’s steep.

I don’t know if we’ll survive the drive to the foot of the hill.



Interlude: There was a color in one of the dreams, but now I don’t recall which one. I don’t quite know how to describe the color: muted cheddar? It’s not yellow, not goldenrod, not orange, not brown, but it’s sort of a mix of all of them.

When I consider how the color makes me feel {I have emotion-color synesthesia}… Okay, which colors would I put it into a colorway with, to clarify my emotions? That’s when I realize… this color jangles and disrupts. It doesn’t harmonize or stabilize or ‘play nice’.

Because I can’t definitively name it, or determine what I’m feeling about it, this color … calls attention to itself, and is memorable.




I’m in my 40s or so, and I’m taking a night class. I think it’s some flavor of history, maybe history of science. The teacher is Mr. Brust [my h.s. physics teacher].

We assemble to take an exam: we have 2 hours to complete 40 questions. As I do my initial read-through of the questions, I vaaaaguely recall having read some of the material, weeks ago, but I didn’t study it, and now I don’t recall details.

I set to work. I look up, and the first hour is gone: I’ve completed 4 questions. Clearly, I’m going to fail this exam.

I continue the exam, but now I’m partly distracted by remembering that I’ve failed most of the exams in this class. So I’m probably going to flunk the year.

I reflect to myself that I am genuinely interested in the subject matter, and I think the teacher knows the material well. They lecture in an engaging way, and I also enjoy the interplay with my classmates. (I’m getting much more out of the process of learning the material than I would by simply reading a book about it.)

I even like reading the assignments… just, not week in and week out, every single week. Sometimes I’m too tired, sometimes I’m exploring other interests, sometimes I forget.

So the real stumbling block, from my end, is… studying. I’m not going to study the subject. (Too much bother, I’m too old for all that nonsense.)

From the class’s end, the stumbling block is… being graded. If I could just attend the classes every week, enjoy the lectures and class discussions, do a reading once in a while, and skip exams and quizzes, I’d be golden.

And that’s when I realize… I’m an adult. I have agency. I can audit the class.




If RL actually had a transgender aspect, we’d have something in common. But there’d certainly not be a way to ask CK about it.

I don’t have a relationship with CK. I did send him a note, which has not yet arrived.

Distractions in waking life, preventing a serious conversation, are legion, and likely not overcomable.

I said Something, and now I zoom off into my actual life, elsewhere.



-unsettling color-

Air months are uncomfortable for me anyway, but in this Air month, on 1/23, I arrived at an unexpected milestone, and have been shaking up my cozy life since (which feels like it was weeks ago, not 4 days).

Gereny Vox, =vallo=, Q.

I’m finally ready to embrace Being Old.




NC and Mr. Brust are the 2 teachers from high school I’ve dreamed about, for almost 40 years.

NC encouraged me to excel by expecting a lot out of me, giving me suggestions very occasionally, and then sharing that she was very pleased and proud when I succeeded {Mexico project}. She remains the only schoolteacher I had who behaved that way. (Gramma, too, tho.)

Mr. Brust could somehow tell I was really smart, so he expected me to do well in his class, but when I struggled, fairly continuously, he offered no help, just “disappointment”. He was never pleased with my efforts, nor proud of me.    He was… a lot like my parents.

I loved the subject of physics before taking his class. The topics in physics I most wanted to cover, our class never arrived at. I wasn’t “smart enough” to overcome not being in the calculus math track … a disability, you might say, which of course no accommodations or workarounds were offered for. No, it must be that I was lazy, or stupid, or a bad person. Or all 3 at once.


Nowadays, I rarely take classes. Instead I read books. A LOT of books.

There are no exams. I don’t have to defend my knowledge base. I don’t compare myself to others. I just do what I like, when I like. Then I move on to other things.


If I have no residual hope of returning to science, then I can get rid of all books that were solely around to help my science career. I’m definitely not going to be a science writer, so those books can go, too. Books about how to do fiddly things that I couldn’t do, even if I wanted to, bye.


Having a dedicated studio has been a wonderfully nourishing and encouraging experiment. 24 years: 6 residences, in 3 states.

Time for a change. Time for radically reimagining who I am, now.

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