Sinister Dreams

I dreamed I was at home in a place with a large and almost empty front room, with a central front door, wooden floor, and a central back door leading into another room. To the right of the back door, a white TV was attached to the wall, and it was turned on to a science fiction show, maybe from the 1960s.

There was a knock on the front door, so I hastened to turn off the TV, but it wouldn’t turn off–I couldn’t figure out how. There was another, louder knock, and the scary black uniforms barged right in. The person in front, a skinny and young blond woman with a clipboard, brusquely asked me a question. I was offended not only because of how they arrived, but they weren’t even slightly polite. As a hint, I said, “Hello,” twice, and when they didn’t take a hint, I rolled my eyes and answered the question.

There were several of these sinister black uniforms reminiscent of riot police, and they charged in and started searching.

I’m not sure if they left…I think this was after they left, although a man was to my right, in the corner, and he seemed like a customer (the space seemed kind of like a bar, maybe I just bought it). I suddenly charged toward that corner to again try turning off the TV, and as I was touching the knobs, it transformed into…. something like a brown metal parking meter. And behind it, against the wall where the TV had been, was a cigarette machine.

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I dreamed I was in another world, and there were a lot of other people around, and I think there was a rocky shoreline, like much of the Oregon Coast. There were lots of tall rocks, and people were around them. I wanted to climb at least one of them, and it felt like an important journey or mission. I don’t remember why it was important.

I approached this one tall rock that slanted away in a dramatic incline. There were men standing next to it and on it, seated on the edge with their legs dangling. I started climbing this rock, and it was very difficult, because it was sharply sloped and slick, and I didn’t have much to grab onto. I wasn’t using a bungee cord, just bare hands. The men standing and sitting were all companionable, chatting pleasantly. I was the only one who seemed to have urgent motivation.

Suddenly, while I was on the rock, it became extremely windy and rainy, and I couldn’t understand what people were saying over the roaring wind, and I was having trouble holding onto the rock. I was lying along the top and clinging to the high edge, so I had gotten all the way to the highest point, when the wind hit. At this point, I was aware that I was a young man, and a little boy was hanging from one of my hands while I clung to the rock with only one hand, and the wind was making me slip. The boy was either my son or my younger brother.

Farm Dream

I dreamed I was the assistant of perhaps a detective (I was a young person and he was a middle-aged man), and he drove us to a farm, where we saw a white and brown cow. He said something odd that may have been a joke, like, “If we stole two calves from their cows, they’d come running after us.”

Soon I saw a red baby horse in the front yard–a big space with a wooden fence and it–and it approached me, and I started petting it through the fence.

Members of this farming family came out and glared at us. There was a husband and wife who were maybe sixty years old and lots of family members ranging in age from between eight and forty.

Next, we were having a civil conversation in the spacious living room, with the detective asking lots of questions and me silently petting a cat.

Then we were seated in a circle in the back yard, and it came up in conversation that we’d have to come back later, for dinner. I mentioned that he’s a great cook, and that interested the farmers. I found myself wondering how they’d react if he made a vegan dinner.

We were crossing a yard to return to the car, and it looked different from the earlier yard. It was cluttered with little things like rusty tools, and the grass was very short where there was grass. In the dream’s reality, my yard was similar but not as extreme, so I felt better about my messy yard.

 

I vaguely recall repeatedly having dreams in which Victorian women earn, in the 1870s, were having seances. I wish I remember those dreams better! They were throughout the night.

Workplace Dream

I dreamed I had a strange workplace. There was a sort of stage made of wood planks or bamboo that led to glass entrance doors for a shop that5 sold toys with East Asian influence, at least on the bottom level. Inside that space, I looked up at a balcony…I’m so distracted by this phone changing everything I type into gibberish that it’s fading.

On the second level balcony or loft, I recall a glass front, like a dollhouse with a protective sheet of clear glass covering the open side. Behind the glass were people in impressive Japanese costumes—kimonos—gathering in what appeared to be a performance. They formed a triangle in two or three levels, kind of like cheerleaders.

I had a camera with me, and after going back out the door with my group of friends, I felt an urge to go in and take a photo of the group. But when I went back in, they were running around instead of posing in a triangle.

Back outside, I gazed in the distance to the left. There was a walkway that turned into a rocky path. The path wasn’t under a roof, I could see, since a little rain was coming down on it. Some people, one with a stroller, were going up the path, and I was very curious about this path and didn’t understand why I had never gone up it previously and wished to do so soon, and I was looking forward to it.

Ghostly Dream

I dreamed that I was an assistant to a paranormal investigator, a tall and maybe arrogant and bossy man, white or Latino, who wore a brown sweater and a scarf. (That sounds a bit Doctor Who-ish.) We were in a mansion with an impressive staircase leading to several floors, and it was fairly dark inside. On an upper floor the railing seemed to continue away from the staircase–perhaps like a loft overlooking a tall-ceilinged room.

At some point, upstairs, we saw a ghost or painting with someone wearing a scarf similar to his, and he got into an argument with that person, because one of these 2 individuals, either the ghost or the investigator, accused the other of wearing his scarf. Oh, it was the ghost accusing the investigator; the accusation was that he stole it.

While we communicated with one ghost, another piggybacked it, wanting attention, and this ghost was literally riding on the back of the first.

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I dreamed that Barrack Obama was at a monument (it looked rather like Greek ruins, with columns), and he was on TV, publicly announcing the overthrow of Donald Dump and his administration. I started writing him a thank-you letter…and my alarm woke me.

A Dream About Needing Solitude

I dreamed that I lived in a modern, 2-story condo with many rooms and many windows. I felt very fatigued and went upstairs to take a nap, and my bedroom was kind of like this one, in that my bed faced a window…though I don’t think it was a skylight. The room was mustard yellow, like the sewing room here. I had just lain down, when a loud helicopter came and was right outside my window. It looked like someone in the helicopter was looking in at me. Then it dipped down, and another helicopter, just above it, was in its place, spying on me through my bedroom window.

As though I heard a knock at the front door instead of 2 sinister helicopters at my window, I resolved to get up and give up in the nap, because clearly these helicopter people wanted to speak to me. So I got out of bed and went downstairs.

I walked down a long, unfurnished room, where on my left was a row of windows that slid open sideways, like windows from the 1950s-70s. It was grey outside, and I didn’t see much. There were small rooms here and there, and I turned…and just as I entered a room, I saw a dad and a little kid and realized I’d walked into someone else’s apartment/condo, so J turned and hastily left. In another part of the house, a couple of more or less young guys were having a lively conversation, so again I walked away. It occurred to me that it was hard to tell when I’d left my condo and entered someone else’s. Confusing.

This dream was about wanting solitude and privacy and having trouble getting it. All the people I stumbled upon were white males, even the child. So maybe that represented how I’m tired of white male supremacy and very much interested in the perspectives of women and people of color in a society that shoves white male privilege and white male perspectives in your face.

Bed and Breakfast…or Something

I had a dream in which I was staying with some people I knew at what in my mind shifted back and forth between “this is their house” and “this is a bed and breakfast.”

Early in the dream, I was helping with rearranging furniture. The house appeared from the inside to be about a hundred years old, maybe Craftsman. (I don’t think I ever saw the facade, unless that was an early stage that I forgot). I was moving furniture–I think bringing a side table or such–into a charming family room that was small for a living room and had a bay window, picture rail, and wood floor. It didn’t appear to have been in use, since there was just rearranged furniture and little else; no knick-knacks or anything. A female friend who lived there helped me with getting the side table/low cabinet in place against a wall.

At some point, several of us were standing around talking about the house. I may have received an open invitation to live there permanently. Looking around, I could certainly see myself living there. I may have been a political refugee who escaped conservative asshole relatives.

Later, I was alone in my minimalist and I think yellow bedroom. I was about to go out and wanted to use the restroom first, so I headed for a door in the far corner of my bedroom.

The door led to a long and narrow corridor, which I soon discovered apparently wrapped around the house, or at least two sides of it, and had many doors. It was a big house.

I ended up in the basement, where at first I was again in a long corridor. I heard older women conversing and came to what seemed like a public restroom on my left. The women were there, and it had several stalls, but they were watching water spraying heavily…sideways…in a stall and soaking at least two stalls. I considered getting wet to use the restroom but decided to find another.

I continued down the hallway and came to a very large room full of people sitting at round little tables and talking. The room was full of the murmur of their voices. I didn’t pick out individual conversations. I was surprised, because I thought it was a bed and breakfast, and here it seemed like a large hotel.

The next room was also full of people, and they were sitting at stalls and using computers like at a library. In both rooms, most, if not all, people appeared to be in their sixties and seventies.

I was next in a corridor, where I ran into an abrasive former coworker, Elaine. We chatted a bit, and she went into a room–apparently a dressing room for actors–on the left. I figured she went in there to get John Barrowman’s autograph (but don’t ask me why I thought he’d be there).

To the left of the door was a three-story utility shelving unit, black metal, with little things on the shelves. Just inside the room, to the right of the door, and facing the direction of the corridor was Rupert Grint seated at a desk or dresser. It took me a few moments to recognize him. I peeked in the room in hopes of seeing John Barrowman, but it was a dark room and I was too shy to march right in like Elaine did.

I took an interest in the stuff on the utility shelves. There were large numbers of little plastic pink baby dolls in two different sizes, and other small groups of things. I figured they were all ordered from the Oriental Trading Company. I reached forward and touched something on the shelf, or touched the shelf itself, and it suddenly leaned at an awkward angle. It was very unstable. I said aloud, “Uh-oh,” or something like that, and Rupert Grint rushed out and helped me with it–picking up the shelving unit and carrying it a few feet down the corridor and setting it down against the wall. I felt awkward and embarrassed, in addition to grateful.

Anxiety Dream on the Anniversary of my Mother’s Death

I dreamed I was a college student. It was the first day…or maybe not…of a class in a room with white tile and that was otherwise white, and in the back corner of the room the wall was covered with school supplies hanging from hooks, and there were clear plastic buckets full of other school supplies, such as markers.

At some point, I think toward the end of the class period, the black male teacher asked us if we needed any supplies ordered. I was somewhat confused about whatever we were learning and didn’t want anyone to know this. I was also worried, because apparently he asked this question about supplies every day, and other students responded, and I didn’t. I had yet to speak in class and was worried about making a bad impression.

I had a long trench coat, like the one I wear now. At the end of class, I was having trouble figuring out if it was the end of class, though the teacher was slowly walking toward the door, and students were rising and donning their coats.

When I stood up, somehow my trench coat ended up lying across a white folding table, and junk, mostly used tissues and maybe cough drops, fell out of my pockets. Some students chuckled. Embarrassed, I scooped up things that fell out, and I tossed them into a small black waste basket. Nobody else was dropping their coats and spilling things; everyone else was graceful and coordinated.

Next, I was outdoors on campus, and it was very sunny, and a few students were standing around talking. I stood going through my pockets. A girl in my class who had short blond hair and clunky black glasses was talking with an older man in a trench coat. This was right at the corner of the building, and the man may have been seated at a cafe table or indoors seated next to a large open window. He was someone she knew.

Fortunately, nobody was paying attention to me while I rummaged through my pockets…well, until I found with my bare hand something sticky and gross in my pocket, something pale, yellow, and oval, like a cough drop, but squishy. Then a boy nearby stopped talking with friends and stared in disgust, as did the girl. I managed to dispose of the cough drop but didn’t know how to remove the stickiness from my hands and stood there giving my right hand a shake, resisting the temptation to wipe it on my clothes, and ultimately using a facial tissue to wipe my hands, so the tissue stuck to my right hand.

The dream involved a lot of feeling stupid and out of place, having no confidence, being very disorganized and confused…while surrounded by people who had it all together and didn’t appear to have these problems.

Dreams and Suffrage

I had a dream mostly from the perspective of a college student reminiscent of Ani DeFranco; she at least looked like her and was charming and outgoing. She lived in the dorm and was walking down the hallway at some point. Once she was alone, until she saw another student seated and said something friendly to them until she walked off.

In the final scene, she was in a simple and plain study room with two female friends. There were rows of tables and a printer, which the three were adjusting. When they were done with the printer–fixing it or something–the main character looked up and approached a studious male student seated at the next table. She said something friendly starting with, “Hey!”

Then the perspective shifted. It was from some distance and you see the other two girls staring at her in shock…and she’s still talking to the guy, except he isn’t there. Nobody’s there. He’s a figment of her imagination. The friends are upset because they realize she’s developed mental illness. She has no idea.

Earlier, I had a fascinating dream inspired by my newfound information that all women in this country weren’t really allowed to vote beginning in 1920; it was primarily white women. In 1924, Native Americans became citizens, so they got the vote in 1924. Another law was passed in 1952, so Japanese Americans could vote. Finally, laws preventing black people and poor whites from voting, such as literacy tests, were passed in 1964. In 1965, a law making it illegal to prevent people from voting based on race was finally passed. So it’s a bunch of technicalities, and someone spread an over-simplified version on Facebook, claiming that only white women got the vote in 1920 (quite a shock, after all that awareness of suffrage history); Native American women got the vote in 1924, Asians in 1952, and blacks in 1964.

The dream was supposed to be set in a slum, showing women who didn’t vote before 1964–and it was set in that year. For an instant it looked like that: a city street, old brick apartment buildings, someone stopping and standing right next to their bike.

But in an instant, it was like a cross between a flea market and a junk yard. There were narrow pathways lined with paraphernalia piled up and forming walls. People here and there were selling stuff, presumably including the stuff that created the walls. I had the perspective of someone walking around through these aisles and stopping to chat with various people.

What’s on your mind, Equal Rights Amendment?

“What’s on your mind, Equalrightsamendment?” (Be careful what name you use on Facebook, because you can’t change it for three months. That said, it would be interesting to hear the Equal Rights Amendment answer that question, if it could speak.)

A sign of the times… I came home to this stack of mail:

From the Wilderness Society, an envelope with this quote, “The oil is there for the taking; we just have to take it.” — Donald Trump [proving his attitude toward this planet and toward women is similar].

From the ACLU, an envelope with these words: “WARNING: Trump-style Attacks Spreading to the States.”

From International Planned Parenthood Federation, a red envelope with these words: “JOIN OUR RESISTANCE. Funding cuts for women’s health–you can help.”

From Emily’s List: “If you don’t have a seat at the table, you’re probably on the menu.” –Elizabeth Warren

…where are all the women? [next to a photo of a bunch of old white male politicians at a long table]

Pass the Equal Rights Amendment

Yeah, the ERA. You know, that thing Alice Paul wrote up in 1923 and hasn’t yet been passed in this overtly misogynistic country.

I just saw a screening of this powerful film, Equal Means Equal. Most of the grim facts were not news to me (feminist nerd), but that wasn’t the case for many audience members, and it’s an extremely important film.

PASS THE ERA AND CEDAW AND DISMANTLE PATRIARCHY.

https://equalmeansequal.org
Equal Rights Amendment eracoalition.org

During the discussion afterward, an arrogant, sanctimonious, and aggressive white male stood up and ranted against “the forty women” who walked out right after the film rather than stay to listen to the speakers. A woman in the audience spelled out to him that he doesn’t know why they walked out; he doesn’t know what’s going on in their lives. She pointed out that the woman who had been sitting next to her was extremely distraught by the film and had to leave. Did he show compassion then? No, he barked, “You’re just making excuses for them!” Um, I don’t think anyone present was in the mood to listen to an arrogant and hostile white male on his high horse. Fortunately, right after him another while male stood up and obviously was deeply moved by the film and said he’s ashamed of being a man right now.