A Dream about being Lonely with Company

22 Nov

I dreamed that I was out in an urban area that particularly featured a parking garage. Actually, the parking garage was early in the dream. I was in it, maybe wandering around, when I met a guy I knew—he was tall and had dark hair and was maybe in his thirties. I think that in the dream I was thirtyish, too. Something was going on that caused many people to be showing up at the parking garage. They were gathering to see something, to watch a spectacle of some sort. We talked and I think agreed to hang out in a particular part of the garage, which was above ground and all grey concrete swirls. But I think he disappeared.

Later, I was walking around on a sidewalk with two female friends—we were all young and at least one of them was someone I knew in elementary, junior high, and high school: Kelly Zander.

Twice while I was supposed to be with those two, I fell behind and walked with a couple of women in their sixties or so. They assumed that I was alone, and I didn’t correct them but didn’t know why, really. The two young friends didn’t notice when I wasn’t with them; I saw them walking and talking animatedly with each other.

The second time I was with the older women, we’d been walking on a sidewalk, and this led to a series of concrete steps. We started walking up them, and I was watching my two young friends who were below and to the left—in a sort of park—of this sort of bridge we were on. I fell about four or five feet behind, so one of the older women paused and called, “Susan?” She turned and saw me, I started catching up, and she said, “I was worried about you.”

As I continued following the older women, I kept looking to my left, making sure I didn’t lose my young friends, who continued laughing and talking and showing no concern for my absence.

Once I’d gotten up and down the concrete stairs and lost track of the older women, I saw my young friends and I walked down a concrete ramp to reach them.

When I finally caught up, we were in an area covered in about four inches of slushy snow. The two young women were laughing and making paths in the snow by pushing it around with their feet.

I felt sad, alienated, left out—because they hadn’t missed me and now ignored me. They seemed as though they could care less if I was around.

 

It seems like I was detached from these friends. As for the older ones, we had only just met, so we could hardly be called friends, and I had no intention of staying with them. Maybe it’s just one of my socially awkward dreams, and I have a lot of those. I think the ages were significant, because I’m between the ages of the two groups of two.

A Vivid Dream at the Beginning of the Year

3 Jan

I had a dream in which I was inside a large art studio in a seemingly deserted school, maybe high school.

The room was long and had large tables in the center, low door-less cupboards on the sides, and lots of paint-stained wood–I think mainly wooden boards used for placing pieces of paper and drawing on. I was the only one there.

Soon at least two young women entered the room–or I had left the studio and met them in a hallway before leading them into the studio. Yes, that’s it.

They were worried. A crisis was going on, maybe a zombie apocalypse or school shooting or something like that. We were possibly the only people in the building, though I sensed someone else was inside it, somewhere.

I went with them back into the studio, and on our left, near the door, was a cabinet surface coming from the side wall. I noticed a cluster of sculptures–cartoonish musicians and one green, frog-like blob creature, and I said, “Oh, how cute!” And reached toward them but didn’t touch them. At least one person agreed aloud.

We kept walking and went through a doorway into a side room on our left, a bit part those little sculptures.

The side room was much smaller than the main studio, but still spacious. As you entered, there was a large, square table to the right, and a long, rectangular table with chairs to the left. We all sat at the latter.

One of us closed the door behind us; I think there was a glass window at the top of the door.

We got into discussion, commenting on how eerie and abandoned the building seemed. It seemed weird and sinister, not normal.

At the table, we started talking about what to do, I think, but I don’t remember what anyone said on that score. Maybe we were just chatting before getting to the nitty-gritty.

At some point, I looked at the other table, got up, and approached it. I was astonished because right in the middle of the table were three of those sculptures I’d seen earlier, 2 musicians and the green creature. We got into discussion about them, and now there were at least four of us, and we were standing around, even picking up the sculptures. I picked up the green one and was disappointed because it had a hole in it; it was a major flaw, and it would have been so cute without that.

Someone started talking about me in an amused fashion, I’m not sure… something about how I’ll die. Someone suggested in a scary way, I forget how. I said I want to die of old age. Amused, one of them said I’ll die while writing a novel, just collapse in mid paragraph. I pictured this, and because I compose on a computer, I worried about whether any of my manuscripts would be printed and whether someone would know what my computer password was, just in case I died. But I don’t think I spoke of these concerns. I put my hair up in a bun, and it was as thick and long as it was in my twenties. We were laughing about something.

(This was actually January 3, 2019, but strangely WordPress won’t let me backdate it that far.)

Black Lives Matter, But Thank You for Flaunting Your Racism

23 Dec

Ew. Ew. Ew. Next time a white male says to me, “All lives matter,” I’m not going to freeze up. I’m going to say, “Check your privileges.” If only I’d said it today. I could have done so much better.

I was at the post office to ship two boxes of gifts—one for a friend who lives in St. Louis. The white male behind the counter said he grew up in St. Louis. He should have stopped with that. That’s a normal thing to say if you see a St. Louis address on a package. But he didn’t stop.

He talked about living in different parts of St. Louis. He talked about moving to different neighborhoods and even mentioned a specific intersection that I tried to picture. He mentioned a family member moving out of the city and into a certain part of the county.

He proudly stated that four of his cousins work for the city of St. Louis. When he said that they work in law enforcement, I started getting uncomfortable. I lived in St. Louis for about a decade, so I know what it’s like to be harassed by St. Louis cops for being female and for having an Indiana license plate. I remember the stories that black and female friends recounted about their experiences being harassed by cops in St. Louis. I’m pretty sure every ticket I’ve gotten was in the St. Louis area, and that was a lot of tickets. A friend of mine called St. Louis “a fascist police state.”

He said that one of his relatives worked twelve hours a day in Ferguson—as in when the cops killed a black kid and there was a huge Black Lives Matter protest that made national news. I saw a powerful play about it. I said, “I’m glad I left St. Louis before that,” because I was thinking about how overtly racist and hostile St. Louis is.

It wasn’t until well after I left that I realized HE WAS BOASTING BECAUSE ONE OF HIS RELATIVES WAS ONE OF THOSE POWER-TRIPPING RACIST COPS IN FERGUSON. You know, the ones with a tank.

It wasn’t until he said, “All lives matter, I say,” that I finally froze up in shock and couldn’t make eye contact with him anymore. He’s lucky I’m so slow to process. I’m ashamed that I didn’t call him out.

I used to work in retail in St. Louis, and I have horrible memories of racist white people coming into my workplace. (Not to mention of course fundamentalist Xians jamming their religion down my throat, anti-vegetarians, ignorant hicks who claimed I have an accent and asked where I’m from and ridiculed me when I said that I was born in Indiana… and sexual harassers.) And that was before that sexual predator neo-Nazi narcissistic sociopath started squatting in the White House and emboldening white surpremacists. But I don’t live there anymore, and today I was on the other side of the counter.

So, yeah: the post office needs to tell their employee to read So You want to Talk about Race by Ijeoma Olua … and he and I both need to read the book How to Be an Antiracist by Ibram X. Kendi.

The last thing he said was, “Merry Christmas.” Another assumption.

I should have replied, “I celebrate Hannukah. But thanks, I look forward to giving feedback.”

Neighbors and a YA Novel

5 Dec

I dreamed that I lived in a contemporary apartment and stepped outside. Was I chasing someone? I don’t know—I forget that early stage of the dream.

I got angry about something and bit my smartphone, breaking the screen again and feeling immediately guilty and ashamed. I was walking on a sidewalk that ran just outside the off-white, concrete-looking apartment building–a drab building with drab surroundings, no plants within sight–and I thought I was approaching the sliding glass door of my apartment.

I stepped in through the slightly open sliding glass door… but it wasn’t my apartment. It was an apartment that belonged to a hetero Chinese couple in their sixties or so. I apologized profusely, and the woman was friendly. The man barely acknowledged my presence.

The woman gave me some things, including pink fabric. I was surprised and honored. Break into someone’s house, and they give you stuff?

Then she asked me to clean off their dinner table, because they were going to have guests for dinner. That was a relief, because it sounded more like the least I could do to make up for intruding like that.

The sliding glass door led into a rectangular combination of living and dining room. The dinner table was diagonally across from the glass door, further right if you’re standing with your back to the glass. To the right of the table was a wide doorway leading into the kitchen. The place was cluttered in general, like my place… or worse, more like the house where I grew up.

It was challenging to get all the stuff off the table, especially since it wasn’t mine. I kept finding folded bits of paper that looked like drafts of ground or floor plans. When I was hesitant to just put something in random places, the woman took them from me. At some point, I carried something into the kitchen. One time, I returned from the kitchen, and they must have been fast, because they’d scrubbed the tabletop clean while I was carrying stuff into the kitchen. At this point, guests had arrived.

 

 

I dreamed… a YA novel, I think. A teen girl was in an adventure. The place was I think a dark place, including a train track going into a tunnel, or something like that. Meanwhile, she meets up with a teen boy, and they both have telepathy–they’re able to communicate via thought, which isn’t common in this world. So she climbs a big black metal block of a thing, she sees him on the other side of it and they say stuff to each other in their heads. She runs over to him, they take hands, and they descend a ladder from the black metal box. They run away.

They’re running from someone or something dangerous. Maybe one or two people, maybe an organization.

My cat Gabriel was on top of me, so I didn’t want to move, and I began dozing off again… and dreamed that I was reading a book review by a white male, a review of the novel I’d just read. The way he wrote about it, you’d think all the characters were male. It was about this one guy… and a bunch of other men… and I stopped reading. I thought, “Boring. Did he read a different version of the book? The version I read wasn’t all men.”

Of course, it was the usual slap in the face, a white male who only thought the male characters mattered.

Secret Powers

3 Dec

I dreamed about a teen girl who developed magic powers–I forget what, maybe communicating with ghosts—and she ended up wandering city streets at night. She ended up at a hospital and unfortunately had some cocaine or something illegal in her blood stream. The black woman doctor who saw her was very kind… but did call her mother, who came to the hospital and was furious. Neither the doctor nor the mother had any idea what was really going on.

Gideon the Ninth Has Invaded my Dreams

2 Dec

I keep having dreams apparently inspired by the novel Gideon the Ninth, by Tamsyn Muir. The dreams involve wandering corridors in a gigantic house or palace. But of course, that’s not terribly different from dreams I’ve had over the years.

I dreamed about a place with numerous people, in some sort of building. There was a nun–I think a Catholic nun (which must be Gideon-influenced) and there was someone wearing a bright blue plaid tam with a big red pompom on top.

But I was out on a terrace and turned away from the building for an instant. When I looked again, there were various people seated at these circular tables with cubbyholes, something like phone booths, and a plastic sort of shell that went down around them. The nun was one of these people, and she was wearing the tam.

Last Night’s Dreams

24 Nov

I dreamed that I had some possessions on a stoop and people were coming and going. It may have been a University.

I wasn’t the only one who had some possessions there. There was a desk with stuff on it, and I had placed a few things there. I knew the desk belonged to a guy I disliked; he was self-entitled and accustomed to getting his own way, and I was fed up with him.

At some point, I was close by and saw him run up to his desk and go through stuff, looking for something he urgently needed, and I was under the impression he needed it for a class project or presentation. I had no remorse for putting stuff on his desk, but neither did I feel angry at him in that moment.

Later, a guy who was a friend of mine but who could get annoying came along, and I was holding onto something, maybe a floor lamp, and he was demanding that I help him out with something, but I didn’t want to. He was trying to physically drag me away, and he got me off the stoop and onto the grass before I yelled at him. “No!”

He was shocked and stopped and stared at me. He wasn’t accustomed to me saying no, to me not being an extreme people-pleaser. I was surprised at myself.

Next, I was moving out and my male ex-roommate passed by without even acknowledging me. I think we were both ex-roommates and ex-friends.

#

I dreamed I was in kind of a large and cluttered space, maybe a basement, with a few other people who were busy with their projects.

I was in contact with a guy who sold cannabis. I think I was on the phone with him… but it was weird, because soon I was holding in my hand one of his cannabis products. I thought it was delightful, because it was sculpted out of cannabis and resembled a witch flying a broom.

#

I don’t know if that was the same dream, but I walked into my mother’s kitchen–she had a female friend (probably one of her siblings) with her. I noticed next to the stove a package of 3 treacle tarts just like the ones I used to get at a British import store. I exclaimed, “Treacle tarts!”

My mother snapped, “Don’t eat those up! That’s all I have!”

There were only two left, and the middle one was cut in half. I considered eating only half of the middle one, but they were so small. I asked her where she got them, so I could go there and buy my own treacle tarts.