Archive | November, 2019

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.

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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.

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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.

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.

Ghostly Dream

16 Nov

I dreamed that I was at my parents’ house—and it looked like their house—and many people were there. A crowd. I was in the bathroom connected to the master bedroom, and I was filling the tub and getting ready for a bath. I got in the tub without getting undressed, and several people barged into the bathroom and, completely ignoring me, went into the master bedroom while they were deep in conversation. I was angry and yelled at them and slammed the door behind them, but they paid no attention. I may as well have been a ghost.

Some more people came and did the same thing, but they were tiny plastic figurines, so when they were in the middle of the room, I scooped them up and threw them into the master bedroom. Furious, I went down the hallway and grabbed a dusty, Indian carved wooden folding screen, took it to the bathroom, and set it up in front of the door leading to the master bedroom.

Maybe I was a ghost in the dream, haunting the last house my parents lived in. They each haunted it after their deaths; I don’t know whether these were temporary hauntings and they’ve moved on yet.

The Nerve of me, interacting on social media like anyone else

14 Nov

It’s National Novel Writing Month, and tonight I reached the month’s official word count goal of 50,000 words. I posted not only to my Twitter account and my Facebook account the fact that I’d reached 50,450 words, but because I’d seen other people do it, I posted it to the NaNoWriMo Facebook group page.

This is what I posted:

“I just reached 50,450 words!

So… tomorrow I’m definitely going to wash the dishes and clean the living room. But I’m aiming for 90,000 words by the end of the month, since that’s standard novel length.”

That’s all I wrote. Nothing more. So what happens? A perpetual playground bully (PPB) commented: “50,000 is standard novel word count.”

I stared at that comment and was utterly flabbergasted. I had simply stated a fact, and here was a bully—like so many before—contracting my statement. I didn’t even post an opinion or a question about word count. So I went to the Writer’s Digest website and found an excellent article (I’ve read it before) by Chuck Sambuchino about standard word count, and I copied and pasted the url as a comment under my post.

Word Count for Novels and Children’s Books: The Definitive Post

Then I replied to the PPB: “That’s only the bare minimum.”

The PPB bizarrely acused me of saying that 90,000 is the minimum, even though that obviously was not what I wrote, as anyone could easily see by looking at my post. She added, “and that’s not true.”

I replied, “No, I didn’t write that it’s the minimum. I wrote that 90,000 is standard word count, which IS true.” Then I blocked the parasite… and started considering dropping out of the group, as I’ve done with quite a number of Facebook groups where I encountered drama thanks to PPBs.

Here are three things that push my buttons… and they also happen to be narcissist/sociopath red flags:

  1. Contradicting me—in particular, contradicting me when I state a fact, not even an opinion.
  2. False accusations.
  3. Attempts to gaslight me.
  4. Lies.

This perpetual playground bully whipped all these out in just a couple of comments! I include “attempts to gaslight me” is because this PPB accused me of claiming that 90,000 is the minimum, despite the obvious fact that I clearly stated that it is the standard. Her accusing me of that is a false accusation, a lie, AND an attempt to gaslight me, all rolled into one.

Yeah, I’m going to name a narcissist or sociopath Kerri in one of my stories, for certain. Coming to think of it, I could probably access a list of every bully I’ve blocked on Nazibook… that’s like a ready-made list of names for villains. If you’re a bully and you know I’m a writer, you’ve automatically given me permission to base a character on you.

The nerve of me, interacting on social media just the way other people interact on social media without being under attack. Am I shivering from cold, or am I shivering from shock? Hmmm. You’d think that a fact about word count would be one thing I can post on social media without being under attack, but… nope. There is absolutely nothing I can post on social media without being under attack from someone who has a shortage of empathy and should go back to the playground.

Unwelcome in an Old Home

13 Nov

I dreamed that my mother and brother and I were staying at a house that had been in her side of the family for a very long time. It was big and had lots of rooms and lots of stuff. The front hall looked like the one in the house where she grew up.

The dining room had two tables, one two-person table under a window and a larger table, I think the shiny kind from the 50s with those metal legs; the tabletop was shiny and white. I think we sat there with relatives early in the dream.

A bunch of people, strangers who looked like they were in their twenties and dressed professionally, were there or even dropped in when I thought it would be the three of us. It turned out that they were going to turn the house into a school. I was shocked and anxious, having assumed it would stay in the family.

I think I was wearing a nightshirt when they arrived, and I went back up to my room and was struggling to decide what to wear and kept getting interrupted and talking to people in different parts of the house.

With my mind on this change—from private home to school—I reminded myself that I live far from here, in Oregon, and that none of us lived near this house and we should be willing to let go.

I began thinking about stuff around the house to take with us. I looked in the (messy, cluttered) bedroom my brother was using. It had bunk beds on the left side of the room, and there were some things scattered on the floor, near and under the bottom bunk. There was a crocheted green and yellow Afghan (the colors of the University of Washington and of the horrible kindergarten through high school I attended), and partially hidden in it were a couple of ceramics (and my mother made ceramics in the 1970s)… one was a candlestick, maybe pink and blue, and the other was about the same size and looked like a pedestal, painted yellow and green, shaped like a branch and leaves; the top was a leaf curled to the side. I thought these were worth keeping.

I’d alternate between doing stuff like that and going through clothing in my room and trying to decide what to wear. No garments seemed to go together.

Also, at some point, I was down in the kitchen, and some of the strangers were also there, and my brother had made cinnamon muffins, and they were still warm and mostly in a muffin tray, and I reached out and took a piece to eat. But as soon as I did, I felt self-conscious in front of these people and thought they must think I’m weird.

 

I could interpret the dream as representing how I don’t belong in my mother’s side of the family or in any house associated with them. Not that I would want to associate with that side of the family ever again.