Archive | February, 2017

Kind of a Nightmare

19 Feb

I had a very uncomfortable dream in which I was sitting at one end of a white couch with new friends and petting a large dog–a white poodle–in front of me. The Worst Frenemy in the Galaxy was sitting at the other end, the left, of the couch, and sternly criticized how I was petting the dog (much as she criticized me for every little thing). “She wants you to pet her lower back.”

So I moved my legs further down. “Here?”

“No, lower!”

The friend to my right was a very tall and stout young woman, calm energy, and dressed in white; she was reminiscent of a friend I’ve known since the mid 90s. The friend on my left was petite and had long reddish-gold hair and a sort of round face. The one on the right was very quiet, in addition to being calm. We three were squeezed close together. The one on the left wiggled and whispered, “Is she the ho you can’t stand?” I thought she was referring to the big and quiet woman, so I shook my head slightly. I felt nervous because I didn’t want the Worst Frenemy in the Galaxy to find out that I told a new friend about her, and here was a new friend whispering about the subject in the monster’s presence. She didn’t give up and added something like, “I mean the ho who gaslighted you?” I was really getting nervous and subtlety gestured in the Frenemy’s direction by slightly tipping my head to the left and maybe raising my eyebrows.

Creepy Dream

17 Feb

I had a dream in which I was in a small, ugly, brown-paneled room with a frenemy–we were sitting at a long counter, and I was listening to her monolog. Actually, a bit before that, she saw me putting something in my bag, and she said in an annoyed voice, “Oh, no, I have to call my sister.”

I wondered about the way she said that in such an annoyed voice. First she was an old friend who was about fifty percent friend and fifty percent frenemy; then she became the Worst Frenemy in the Galaxy. As though she read my mind, she decided to explain to me why she didn’t want to call her sister/disliked her sister. After she started talking, she turned into someone else, a pasty-faced white girl with shoulder-length, straight-ish brown hair. She wasn’t pretty.

She started to explain how it all started with her sister, who, as it turned out, was adopted (at least, that was the story she was telling me). She said that at the orphanage (which I pictured like an animal shelter, with her sister and lots of other children behind bars). She claimed that her sister was a brat from the start, and that at the orphanage her sister reached out and grabbed her parents.

While she was speaking, she wrinkled up her nose in disgust at this memory of her sister. Even though she didn’t look like Audrey, in the dream she pretty much was Audrey. That is, by now I knew she was extremely manipulative and unpredictable and volatile and that she was a pathological liar.

As she spoke, I wondered if she was lying about her sister and if she really was an orphan–this was the first time she claimed that her sister was adopted. I found myself wondering if everything she ever said about her sister described herself instead. This came to mind, since not only was she a pathological liar who demonized people, but she also projected her own traits to such an extreme on her scapegoats–I had been the butt of that too many times to, at this point, believe anything she said.

While she was talking, I watched with interest the scene before me. Over the counter was a long glass window through which we saw a small room, perhaps a storage room, with lots of stuff on shelves and a small number of people interacting. To the right was a black utility shelf with stuff on it, and the bottom shelf included a revolving fan with fuzzy strings tied to it. A woman in her 50s, maybe 60, wore a long, blue-grey dress, and the fan blew at her skirt sometimes. She was with a little kid who had a doll that looked like a middle-aged woman in a mostly light brown outfit. There may have been a cat on a halter or a dog on a leash with them. I noticed that beyond them was a similar window, into one of those drab supermarkets like Safeway. Frenemy may have started maliciously talking about the woman in the tiny room, or maybe I was just anticipating it, since it seemed like something she would do.

While she was talking I remembered that red flag in the book Psychopath Free: they have lots of sob stories. So I remembered that and looked at the frenemy and thought that her ordeals of putting up with this sibling was a sob story, twisted or made up.

I just remembered how the dream really ended.

Later, the woman and the little kid were inside the supermarket or some such place, coming close to the end of what was very much like a wide and long hallway, with lots of white tile—floor and ceiling. Behind them was produce the way it’s displayed at grocery stores. Now instead of a doll, the woman in light brown (a coat from the 70s?) was a person instead of a doll, perhaps a nanny, who was keeping the child company while the other woman had her mind on grocery shopping.

Letter to Oregon senators about the EPA

12 Feb



Dear Senator,

Please do all you can to prevent that lunatic Scott Pruitt from taking over the EPA. When Nixon (yes, I know, of all people) started the EPA, the initials stood for “Environmental Protection Agency.” When Georgie Porgy squatted in the White House, it turned into “Environmental Persecution Agency.” This would happen again if Scott Pruitt, who doesn’t even believe in climate change as it unfolds right in front of his face, were to take over the EPA. Actually, we would have to rename it the “EDA: the Environmental Destruction Agency.” Pruitt hates the planet (perhaps he’s not from Earth); wishes to do away with the EPA (so I guess it would just… cease to exist before we could rename it EDA); and keeps suing the EPA; and has fossil fuel connections. With that in mind, nobody could be a worst candidate. The cat who just knocked over my stationery would be a better candidate. One of the mallards I saw splashing and swimming in flood water would be a better candidate; at least they respect the environment.


Susan E Wigget

Gnome Chomsky

10 Feb

Taking a walk, I passed a garden gnome in a neighbor’s yard. I’ve been watching Trollhunters on Netflix, and the show has altered my perception of garden gnomes. I kept my eye on this one until I had passed the yard, because I knew that behind that smile was a mouth full of sharp, pointed teeth.