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Bereavement Dream

23 Apr

I dreamed it was the anniversary of my dad’s birthday…. but that’s in February.

I was at a bakery, and there was an outgoing and flaming young guy there, and my dad came up in conversation with him. He said he’d make a cupcake for not only me but also my dad. And he said, “Call him.”

By this point in the conversation, he was behind the counter and getting out cupcakes, and I was seated at a round table in the middle of the room—it was the only table, even though there was space for many more tables. The floor was shiny silver concrete. When he said to call my dad—and I was feeling melancholy—I looked at him with confusion. He said it again. I stared at him.

He brought a pink cupcake over, and I suddenly realized what he meant and I got out my smartphone. I said, “I still have his phone number.” Then I burst into tears.

I looked at the phone and said, “There’s a pass code. I don’t remember it.” Apparently I thought there was a passcode for leaving a message on his phone—but that makes sense. It would make sense if his phone had a pass code, but that didn’t occur to me until after I woke.

Well, that was gut-wrenching.

Quite a Dream….

10 Apr

I dreamed that I was one of three jailers locked in a white cell with a prisoner. We jailers were all female, and the prisoner was a sneering, taunting asshole of a white male (slender, short-haired, blond, ordinary looking, in his thirties or forties) who I’m sure represented patriarchy.

I was determined to kill him. He seemed to think this was hilarious and that I was too incompetent to do it. I don’t remember if he said taunting things, but he kept grinning and laughing at me, thus fueling my rage against him. The other two women mostly kept their distance and weren’t committed to killing him like I was.

At least toward the end, the three of us each held an oversized basketball. We were holding them in front of us, ready to attack the asshole with them. I bounced mine against him and noticed that it was somewhat deflated and, disappointed, said as much. He seemed to think that more reason to gloat, so I charged at him, hitting him with the ball. At first the other two kept their distance but I yelled something at them, something about not betraying me, and they half-heartedly joined me.

Eventually, I was sitting on top of him while he lay on the floor–still grinning and gloating–and I put a white plastic bag over his head and suffocated him, pressing the ball on his face while simultaneously squeezing the plastic bag around his neck.

He suffocated to death–and the dream ended.

So… basically, I had a dream in which a white male character represented patriarchy, and I killed patriarchy.

Suffragists Dreams

9 Apr

I dreamed about suffragists.

I alternated between the POV of a young suffragist (about 20 years old) and that of someone modern watching a film about them. And they were traveling.

There was an early scene in which we were suffragists circa 1907 and had a big sort of wooden wagon that was painted bright purple–it was like a baker’s wagon that was small and square and made of wood, nothing like a Conestoga wagon. We ended up stopping on a path or road in an obscure place that didn’t look urban–we were just outside a one-story business. There, I think the back opened up wide and we filled it with stuff, maybe suffrage promotion items and maybe also some young suffragists riding in back.

Next we were forced to stop because something happened. We were perhaps in a more urban area. I think we were inches away from a brick building to the right (if you’re standing and facing the back of the vehicle, as I was shortly after we stopped). The back opened up I think by accident, and a gathering of boys and men were making fun of us. I panicked and felt shy and overwhelmed with rejection and lack of respect and wanted to hide.

(I imagine that’s what I would have been like as a 19th century suffragist—

I wouldn’t have been helpful with visible activism such as giving talks, though I certainly would gave at least written fiction about suffragist characters.)

Anyway, it shifted so this was from the perspective of someone watching a film about suffragists, and I reflected that this was probably about 1907 and was before the 1910s when suffragists were more respected.

(Now that I’m awake, I realize it’s not that simplistic—

lots of assholes were still disrespectful toward suffragists in the 1910s and even today Repugnantcans are trying to prevent people, especially people of color, from voting—and some have even openly said that if people used the franchise Repugnantcans wouldn’t win elections–which we’ve known and read before, but it’s kind of surprising the parasites are actually saying this. I think it was Rachel Maddow who pointed out that Repugnantcans know their policies are extremely unpopular but instead of changing their policies they’re practicing voter suppression.)

But I digress—back to the dream….

Later, there was a scene in which suffragists are wearing drapey circa 1912 dresses (think Titanic), all in white with lace. We were walking along a narrow room next to the railing of a staircase: it was like the mud room in the house where I grew up. We reached the end of the room and began turning with the intention of climbing down the stairs. I was hitching up my skirt, which had at least two layers.

It shifted again, so I was someone watching this as a film and was confused when one of the characters claimed the year is 1907, when it looked to m ed like the clothing is from 1912.

In a final scene, I was a young adult daughter and was accompanied by my mother and at least one suffragist friend and some family members, and it was 1912 still. I may have been wearing suffrage purple, although I think it wavered back and forth between my wearing suffrage purple and wearing a delicate suffrage white dress. My mother disapproved of my suffragist friends and of my activism as a suffragist. I felt acutely aware of this disapproval and was anxious and saddened by it… but I wasn’t about to stop. We were heading out to take a trip, and we stepped down a very short set of steps and the setting looked vaguely like the garage of the house where I grew up.


I dreamed something disturbing in which I was yelling insults right back at my asshole brother, who was yelling at me and falsely accusing me–in public. The setting was a crowded public pool.

I think the same dream started out differently–or maybe it was a different dream. Oh, I think so–maybe set in a public library for a kindergarten… let me start over…


There was a scene in which I was with at least 2 friends out in front of a public library and about to enter it. It looked like a low building from the 1960s. I was ahead, approaching the front glass doors.


I remember a dream set inside either a public library or a preschool. There were lots of people, including children. A couple of little girls were curious about a bright purple thing that was long and had various parts and you could sit in at least one central section of it and… I don’t know, pretend you’re on a boat but also do some sort of exercise, I think a variety of different exercises. Oddly, a giggling little girl was doing this while the boat was leaning on its side, lengthwise, against a bookcase. I ended up, after she got off it, setting it up properly and trying to figure out how to use it.

I think in the same dream, it soon seemed like a gym, and Maude was using something, maybe an exercise bike, and I waved at her and greeted her and continued what I was doing.

Neighbors and a YA Novel

5 Dec

I dreamed that I lived in a contemporary apartment and stepped outside. Was I chasing someone? I don’t know—I forget that early stage of the dream.

I got angry about something and bit my smartphone, breaking the screen again and feeling immediately guilty and ashamed. I was walking on a sidewalk that ran just outside the off-white, concrete-looking apartment building–a drab building with drab surroundings, no plants within sight–and I thought I was approaching the sliding glass door of my apartment.

I stepped in through the slightly open sliding glass door… but it wasn’t my apartment. It was an apartment that belonged to a hetero Chinese couple in their sixties or so. I apologized profusely, and the woman was friendly. The man barely acknowledged my presence.

The woman gave me some things, including pink fabric. I was surprised and honored. Break into someone’s house, and they give you stuff?

Then she asked me to clean off their dinner table, because they were going to have guests for dinner. That was a relief, because it sounded more like the least I could do to make up for intruding like that.

The sliding glass door led into a rectangular combination of living and dining room. The dinner table was diagonally across from the glass door, further right if you’re standing with your back to the glass. To the right of the table was a wide doorway leading into the kitchen. The place was cluttered in general, like my place… or worse, more like the house where I grew up.

It was challenging to get all the stuff off the table, especially since it wasn’t mine. I kept finding folded bits of paper that looked like drafts of ground or floor plans. When I was hesitant to just put something in random places, the woman took them from me. At some point, I carried something into the kitchen. One time, I returned from the kitchen, and they must have been fast, because they’d scrubbed the tabletop clean while I was carrying stuff into the kitchen. At this point, guests had arrived.



I dreamed… a YA novel, I think. A teen girl was in an adventure. The place was I think a dark place, including a train track going into a tunnel, or something like that. Meanwhile, she meets up with a teen boy, and they both have telepathy–they’re able to communicate via thought, which isn’t common in this world. So she climbs a big black metal block of a thing, she sees him on the other side of it and they say stuff to each other in their heads. She runs over to him, they take hands, and they descend a ladder from the black metal box. They run away.

They’re running from someone or something dangerous. Maybe one or two people, maybe an organization.

My cat Gabriel was on top of me, so I didn’t want to move, and I began dozing off again… and dreamed that I was reading a book review by a white male, a review of the novel I’d just read. The way he wrote about it, you’d think all the characters were male. It was about this one guy… and a bunch of other men… and I stopped reading. I thought, “Boring. Did he read a different version of the book? The version I read wasn’t all men.”

Of course, it was the usual slap in the face, a white male who only thought the male characters mattered.

Last Night’s Unsettling Dreams

14 Oct

I’ve started reading Tuesday Mooney Talks to Ghosts by Kate Rucculia. So… I had a dream inspired by it, in which I was someone like Tuesday and was participating in a scavenger hunt inside a huge and dark mansion. It involved wandering around. It’s pretty vague. I woke before I got as far along as I would’ve liked. Vita was lying next to me, so we did a lot of cuddling. At first I thought she was in the dream.

I had a dream in which a sorceress or such had a pixie in captivity, on a wooden table behind her house. She kept the pixie in captivity by keeping her wounded, stabbing her in the shoulder with what looked like a sword and leaving it in for stretches of time. She kept the pixie wrapped in what looked like a huge pink petal.

At the end of the dream, a man, maybe a prince (he looked like a fairy tale prince) was in her house waiting for the … drugs the sorceress supplied him. She went out back, removed the “sword” sticking out slightly from the pixie’s shoulder, unwrapped the petal, and sprayed poison from a pink thing. She sprayed it at the pixie’s face. This was the process, and I think she was somehow extracting a “drug” from the pixie…unless what was poisonous to the pixie was a hallucinogen for humans, and she was using it for two purposes.

Just before that, perhaps the same dream:

I had a gay male friend who was in on this weird thing. Apparently, snails or slugs were part of my herbal medicine. I was accustomed to putting one tiny slug in the bottom of the mug before putting in the powder and pouring the hot water.

This friend had a glass jar that had one of those glass lids that slip off when you shift a wire contraption. He put sand and a bunch of snails in it and gave it to me. It looked pretty. I took this home and was in a basement and opened the jar. Snails began growing… and kept growing… until they were at the top of the jar.

Panicking and not knowing what to do, I took the jar out back and placed it on my dinner table, which for whatever reason I now kept outdoors in the back yard, along with some other furniture. The tabletop was somewhat wet from rain, and it occurred to me that maybe this wasn’t such a great idea.


I dreamed I was a young woman with a group of female friends; one of them may have been closer than the others. I had trouble parking in an urban area and came into this (perhaps Moroccan) restaurant where the others were. They may have been part of a larger group, and I showed up—perhaps with a passenger—and was feeling very out of place and self-conscious, since I was so awkward. Also, I’d left the car in an illegal spot.

We talked for a bit. Shoes and other clothing were scattered around a section of the floor. While we talked, with me standing, I said I’d try again to find legal parking.

The front of the restaurant was mostly glass windows, and I looked toward those windows and noticed a parking garage across the street. I’d been so set on parallel parking that I’d ignored the garage, and even now spoke as though the parking garage would be a last resort, like I didn’t like parking that way.

As I headed for the front steps, my cat Virginia joined me, and she was carrying in her mouth two pairs of ballet-like shoes for me, one lavender and the other red, and she dropped them onto the concrete stoop. I was barefoot and concerned about that, so I eyed the shoes, which looked too small.

Next, I was in a big room with other people… and walked toward the back and entered a dark basement. Or mostly dark. This was my workplace, and I think I waited on tables. I was accustomed to people showing up for an event in this room at about this time, but most of the lights were out, and nothing looked ready. One other person was there, a woman. In front of me, at the far left end of the room, was a rectangular table with a bunch of stuff on it, mostly glass containers such as bongs.

The other person may have called to me or vice versa; we were plenty of feet apart. I was bewildered and didn’t know what to do, because things were different than usual.

Nightmarish Dreams

4 Oct

I dreamed I was at a large, very plain and white library… or museum… with s female friend. For a library, it certainly didn’t have many visible books.

In a large white room, I was standing in front of something like a white podium, and it was my intention to be doing research. But I didn’t like how this library worked and complained aloud, in a moment of exasperation and impatience.

Suddenly a male voice over an intercom—the staffer whom I’d met in the front lobby—was verbally attacking me over an intercom or PA system. He was somehow able to hear me. I replied in kind, and he replied and proceeded to shower me with nonstop insults, accusations, and threats over the PA system for all to hear.

I needed to leave immediately. The friend and I were going to slip out a side door. She reminded me that he had my keys—you hand them over when you show up at this place—and according to her, I needed to go get them myself… although I wanted her to get them for me, so I wouldn’t have to see this verbally abusive asshole again.

And that’s how the dream ended.


I dreamed that I was supposed to meet up with a queer Latinx male friend, a petite guy, at a restaurant. So I was in a back room of this restaurant waiting for him… and he didn’t arrive. I felt abandoned.

Eventually, I went to the front of the restaurant… and to the front door… and he was out there waiting to meet me. I was so appalled that it didn’t occur to me to wait out front instead of in back. We talked for a bit, but the hour had passed, and he couldn’t stick around.


In another unpleasant dream, I was across the street from a low, glass, L-shaped 1960s building. I recognized it and associated it with the Buddhist book discussion group from which I recently dropped out, thanks to a bully. This gave me aversion. As I watched, I spotted both the organizers of the Buddhist book group approach the building’s door. I froze. They spotted me and kept looking at me. I felt dread and aversion, maybe even panic, although emotions are generally muffled in dreams compared to real life.


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.)