Construction and Constructing

27 Sep

With a construction site inches away from my apartment, I haven’t figured out which disturbs me more: the construction noise (including the BAM! BAM! BAM! of hammers), or the music (noise pollution) the construction workers listen to. Yesterday they listened to something that sounded like country music or pop music or some sort of inane amalgamation of the two. Since I’m a writer (and since I’m attempting to complete some consignment craft items, namely green cloth Goddess dolls/sculptures), I tend to work at home. It keeps my cat happy.


Fortunately, I’ll attend a group meditation this evening. And tomorrow I’m participating in a crafting get-together, so some of that consignment crafting will be far away from the construction noise (never mind that so far the construction workers haven’t worked on Saturdays and Sundays).


Early this morning, I had a dream in which I had a low-status job in a large, new publishing company. I was new on the job, and so was just about everyone else. The boss of everyone, the top of the totem pole, was a white male in a navy blue business suit. I felt like I had to be very cautious—to act like a robot, keeping as quiet as possible and pretending I had no emotions (gee, that’s exactly what I told myself to do in Kansas right before I moved there!), and I felt insecure about my job, as though I could easily be fired and replaced at the slightest whim. Smile and nod, humor the power-tripping white male on top.

There was a long narrow hallway with a row of glass-walled offices, to the left of the business. To the right was a large space where people operated big letterpress machines and such—the heavy, dirty work.

Toward the end of the dream, I was doing something just outside the boss’s glass office. A tall white guy who looked Dutch came along and dropped off his resume, saying something about the kind of work he wanted. After he left, there were two white males (including the boss) in the boss’s office, and I overheard one of them say, “A lot more people want white-collar jobs in this company. Have you noticed?”

“Yeah, I don’t know what’s up with that.”

The way they both spoke sounded so patronizing and stupid! I was really tempted to open my mouth and say, “A lot of people my age have back problems, so they don’t want to be operating heavy machinery and bending down all day. For that matter, even people younger than me, in their thirties.” But it occurred to me that they wouldn’t want to hear what I had to say, so I kept quiet.

Next, the dream involved images of people working in the large building. And then there was a cartoon-like, sideways image of poor black women living inside what looked like a giant burlap rice bag, and one of the women is so desperately hungry that she starts eating away at the opening of the bag. I can sense that one of her companions is about to chastise her, because if she eats the whole bag, they won’t have anything to live inside. There were similar such scenes—a bunch of workers in blue shirts (not white, since they weren’t white collar) walking away from the big building, in rain and mud.

Wow, that was a dream about patriarchy! More specifically, it was about white male supremacy and class. I didn’t realize how threatening and sinister and depressing it was during the dream—it’s occurred to me now that I’m awake and writing about it.

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