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5 May

On April 27, I had a dream in which I had two Native American friends, one female and one male, and I was helping them move to a city.

At some point in the dream, at least 2 of us were on a dark and urban street. I was trying to figure out exactly where their new address was. There was a lot of writing on a wall–addresses or address numbers were painted on an old brick wall, and I was trying to trace with a finger the exact spot, while a vehicle was parking right there in front of it. There was s strip of pink and purple paint, and I was murmuring the name of the street or apartment: Weatherplace, or something like that.

I dreamed that I had set up a video camera in my bedroom–this bedroom–and I was looking at video footage…and discovered that a baby coyote had been repeatedly curling up and sleeping at the foot of my bed. It was cute, but I figured it was getting in through the skylight, like my cats, and since this was a wild animal, that had to stop.

This evening I went to see a play that had a Native American theme—scenes with Lewis and Clark and modern scenes at Standing Rock. One of the characters was named Coyote…which is also the name of a Native trickster deity.


A Dream about…not Being Yourself

3 May

I had a dream about a wealthy and privileged young man from a Middle Eastern country.

He lived in an enormous mansion, maybe a palace—the rooms were so huge—and had a lot of extended family and a bunch of friends.

He was spoiled and arrogant. He thought he could just propose to a young woman, and she’d be eager to marry him…so when she jilted him, he was very arrogant and offended, which of course offended her. It seems to me like he had some clash with Westerners; she may have been a Westerner.

He typically wore a suit of lightweight off-white and beige material. He’d wear a jacket/blazer that was beige, over off-white trousers and shirt or tunic. And maybe sometimes an Islamic prayer hat.

Scenes sometimes alternated with moments when I had the perspective of a writer writing this very same story (which happens a lot in my dreams).

Oh, yes…This young man was famous, and crowds gathered to see him. There was a party where he ccx was expected to appear and give a speech, and people kept inquiring about him. But a young male friend of his showed up and announced that he didn’t feel like attending and giving this speech.

The main character believed that he had to be in a perfectly good mood whenever he was around many people (and that was a huge party). He thought he had to be smiling and cheerful and bubbly in all such situations.

People were very disappointed that he wasn’t at the party, and he learned of their displeasure. He came to realize that what he was doing was inappropriate and selfish, so he showed up at the next party and apologized to everyone (or maybe it was the same party). He explained that he’d always assumed that he was supposed to be some character out of a 1960s movie, not a regular person with deep emotions, not someone who was three-dimensional even in public. He promised he’d never do that again–that he’d need a better reason to not show up at parties.

People cheered and were happy. Lots of people were talking at once, many sitting at extremely long couches in a big, central pit. The young prince sat down on one of those couches and stretched an arm across the back. He seemed relaxed now.

Someone cheerfully mentioned a harem.


Awake, I see that this dream was about pretending to be someone you’re not because the real you is unacceptable, at least toward your family and society. That has been a major part of my life since early childhood.

I Dreamed that I punched a Repugnantcan

26 Jan

I lived in a fairly large city. I went up cement steps leading to a contemporary glass building. Inside, I was first at a restaurant with long, narrow tables. I think it specialized in noodles and sushi.

Next, in the same building, I went shopping in a huge…shop. I think it sold groceries, among other things. It looked something like Market of Choice.

I felt lonely and melancholy, recalling that I used to shop here with friends….well, frenemies, so of course I was better off without them. But I used to be so sociable, and now I was so alone.

The best part of the shop was a section where they had antique dolls. I was in there, gazing in wonder at some silk-clad Japanese dolls and little porcelain dolls.

A tall, slender, and young female employee with dark blond hair was in an aisle on her knees, stocking merchandise. I went into her aisle and recognized her. Maybe I greeted her. She said, “Susan, [name of another employee] told me that you’re too loud. You’ve got to keep your voice down.”

My mood abruptly shifted from delighted at antique dolls to hurt, shocked, ashamed, and humiliated. I backed away. I considered leaving the shop without buying the many items in my grocery cart.

Next, I was back in the restaurant, where I returned to my table and picked up a dinner roll I’d dropped on the floor.

Next, I was still in the shop, but in a narrow back corridor, the kind that leads to restrooms and water fountains and emergency exits.

An old white woman who was short and skinny and had (probably dyed) short black hair rudely looked me up and down. She said, “A Democrat. Yes, you’re a Democrat.” She moved past me. “Democrats are boring.”

If this happened in real life, hopefully I’d reply, “First of all, no, they’re not. Second, I’m registered Green Party. Third, Repugnantcans are fascist white male supremacists.”

But in the dream, I didn’t say that.

I punched her in the face.

She fell to the floor and lay there moaning and exclaiming, so in seconds I went from feeling satisfied to feeling guilty. I guess I was causing too much noise, even without speaking.

I felt terrible, so I bent down and tried to help the harpy up, but then she started gloating and laughing at me, while a couple other shoppers watched, so I left her on the floor.

Talking Cats and Ramen

23 Jan

I dreamed I was one of three people who died and became cats. We were talking cats in the Bardo or some such place. The three of us gathered together, and I was expecting a dharma talk and expected the other two to be Enlightened, so I was surprised that one of them, a chubby white and brown cat—maybe a short-haired Persian—was curled up in a giant bowl of ramen and spilled noodles over the edge and onto the flat white surface we occupied. This cat was somewhat wiggly and, at the end of the dream, was reaching over the edge to grab the spilled ramen.


Earlier, I dreamed that I just moved to the house in Kansas, but it was a bigger and more elegant house furnished beautifully with antiques, mostly Victorian and Edwardian. Other people were there, but they weren’t nasty relatives harassing me; they were friendly people being nice to me, people I happened to know who’d moved to the area or neighborhood.

I wandered around the house a little and was impressed with the antiques. In one room, I think a bedroom, there was a dark brown cabinet. I thought a yellow armchair was attached to it before I realized that no, it was in front of it.

Someone came to visit, and it was a jerk from elementary and high school, but now he was being nice and polite. In the midst of conversation, I paused and asked, “Wait a minute. You lived in Indiana. What are you doing in Kansas?”

I was so enamored with the house that it wasn’t until toward the end of the dream that I started to remember in the back of my head that this was Kansas, a horrible place full of overt misogynists, and I began to wonder, despite the house, if I could stand dwelling in such a place. (In real life, the answer turned out to be an emphatic NO.)

Dreams of India, Hotels, and being Lost

15 Dec

I dreamed that I was traveling in India.

I had a strange structure I think in my hotel room–or was it a lower part of a tour bus parked along the curb in front of a hotel? It was weird. I opened it up and was looking through my clothing and trying to decide what to change into, while two or three (Jewish?) women with whom I was traveling chatted with me.

I had a fascinating array of tunics I made myself. They were hanging in a neat row. One was white or off-white with organza over cotton and was full of lace and pin tucks–at least one tunic. Another was red and green, maybe paisley, again with a row of pin tucks, the entire front of the tunic. There was a navy-blue calico tunic that I was probably going to change into. But when I looked through my slacks, I found very few.

Meanwhile, someone mentioned that they were going shopping, so I thought I might go and buy some salwar (Indian trousers).

Later, I met Shahrukh Khan at a hotel, and after we chatted for a bit, I asked for an interview. He had to leave the next day, so at first, I thought that meant no interview… but we ended up sitting down together at a small, round table with some potted plants nearby–at a café or balcony that I think was inside the hotel–and I got a friendly and casual interview. It was like a long conversation.

Do I remember what we talked about? No.

I already had on my schedule an interview with another famous Indian actor, another Khan, but this was the highlight.

Just before waking, or while waking, I was posting on Facebook, “I interviewed Shahrukh Khan!”


I had a dream about a small group of people traveling. I was in the group, as were my brother, sister-in-law, and nephew who all live in Phoenix and whom I visited last December.

At some point, I was separated from everyone else and was trying to get back to the group or to the hotel. It was a place that had palm trees—I think I was in Phoenix. Yes, I remember that. There were buildings the color of terracotta and lots of palm trees.

I was on a bus at some point, maybe. But I mainly remember walking along the center of a meridian, and there was loud, busy traffic on both sides of me. A pedestrian or bicyclists crossed my path. I felt very nervous and out of place and maybe lost. Definitely unsure and lacking confidence.


There was a three-year-old girl (maybe this was a different dream?) who got separated from the group of travelers and was on her own.

She was accustomed to drinking a type of juice at intervals; she may have been taking medication with it. She’d been wandering on her own and found the motel where her family was supposed to be staying, but they weren’t there yet, and a woman who worked there wasn’t willing to unlock the motel room for just a three-year-old. So the kid was waiting just outside–it looked like a drab motel– and sobbing. She wet her pants and only had the one outfit. She was terrified and despairing.

Meanwhile, I had the perspective of someone who was witnessing this while seated or standing on a terracotta colored set of steps rising from the hotel basement just outside the room the child was in front of. I realized I was the only person who would help her out, so I let her into a hotel room–maybe I checked in first.

Next it turned into a dream about my new hotel room, with a couple of guys (one looked like the father-in-law of Mrs. Maisel) showing me around. The room had–or maybe this was the entire hotel room–a huge bathroom that was all beige tile. It was strange, with an enormous shower in the center of the room, and one of the men explained to me how that worked. On the side was an alcove/ closet where I already had rows of clothing hanging. While I explored the bathroom in fascination, I was vaguely aware that the little girl was there in the room with me. I kept commenting and marveling at the size of the bathroom. I said to the guys, “This bathroom is so huge that it could have lots of colorful tile, but instead all the tile is beige.”

A House…and a Dollhouse

14 Dec

I dreamed that I just bought a new house with a lot of simple white rooms. A realtor explained that this one smallish back room–very white, with little archways aplenty on each off the side walls, but the archways were open, showing big storage spaces–anyway, the realtor said this room was supposed to be the living room for another house, but the builder (or seller?) Decided to add it to this house, so I got an extra room for free. He was excited about it.


I dreamed that I was in a couple of rooms and had a dollhouse and a bunch of fabric and craft supplies, and I wanted to make a bunch of dolls for this dollhouse. I had specific characters in mind, as though I were writing a novel.

My mother (who in this reality died in 2016) came along and had an old book or two for making dollhouse dolls, so I was trying to persuade her to let me borrow it. But she kept prattling on and walking in and out and distracting me. Sometimes she was talking to someone in another room and sometimes going into that room to be with that person.

There was a work table on which I had some books, magazines, and tracing paper for doll clothing patterns spread out. I was picturing a doll that was a male character in a pink brocade frockcoat, and at first I was picturing something 19th century but I figured the pink brocade would be more 18th century. I knew about a specific book or article that would be perfect for tracing patterns from.

Costume Shop Dream

22 Nov

I worked in the costume department of a theater in that last dream. People bustled around a warehouse-like area.

At the end of the dream, I was with a small number of people in this narrow section with white countertops and maybe mirrors–I think it was a narrow section surrounded by a huge room.

A young woman (I think we were all young) came by with a paper bag full of stuff and a white receipt. She was talking about laundry for a specific show. She said, “I can’t believe how little they spent on laundry for that show.” I pictured a dry cleaner, but I was about to say that nobody did laundry for that show, when I looked up at the slip of white paper she’d taped up on the mirror across from us. It said $7.60.

That confused me. I went from believing there wasn’t a dry-cleaning bill for that show… to agreeing with her.

Another person in that little space with us was a very slender gay guy (also very young) with whom I was kind of obsessed. He had short, dark hair and was very pale. He was flaming and elegant and was that day wearing dark pink jeans–like cranberry-colored–and an off-white with cranberry dots (or some pattern) satin collared shirt. He wore a lot of make-up, maybe even a white foundation like a geisha or an 18th century aristocrat. He had a cute little purse that matched his outfit…but it was really a trinket box rather than a purse, and it was homemade, with an assemblage of little red things (such as tiny plastic animals) decorating all around the edge. He soon left, saying, “Goodbye, darlings,” to us (two females), and he left the trinket box behind, so I cheerfully was trying to close it (it was completely empty, an oval about six inches long, and looked like white cardstock inside). I struggled to make the top and bottom line up and close, because the assemblage was getting in the way.

He was really cool and charming and probably wasn’t as into me as I was into him, although when I was in my twenties, quite a few gay guys liked me.

(Yesterday, I was typing up a letter I’d written when I was a theater student. So many memories.)