Not so great this morning. I woke up at 7:14 for some reason. I decided to try and get up, which lasted until about 9 when I fell back asleep and slept until after 11.
I had a couple dreams with a common thread. In the first one I was about 8 years old and my little friends were playing a game where they stole their friends’ clean underwear. I was the victim of one such expedition and while my friends were jumping and laughing, holding wads of my underwear in their hands I just played along. After this went on for some time it became obvious to me that these little hooligans had no intention of giving me my underwear back. I’ll pause here to say that a couple weeks ago I went out and bought a couple packs of tame, neutral underwear so that when doctors were prodding me they wouldn’t have to deal with bright blue lace or anything embarrassing like that. Back in the dream I started crying that I was sick and I needed that underwear for hospital purposes. They didn’t believe me and I started getting hysterical, “I’m sick! I’m sick! I need those! I have a liver disease!” It was awful, but I think the kids eventually compromised and gave me back half my underwear.
The second dream I had was where I was in this little walk-in salon. Someone else (a girl about my age with her father) was there getting some service at the same time. There was only one person working at the salon and there was only station at which to get your beauty needs taken care of. I had gotten there first and so I assumed I would be served first. The salon lady gave me these supplies I was supposed to mix together, which I did, and then she started talking to the other girl about what she wanted done. It was then that I realized the other girl was being served first and I had mixed up the beauty gunk wrong. I immediately admitted my mistake and apologized profusely.
I patiently waited my turn while the girl got her nails done (her father watching on). When I accidentally caught her eye I noticed that she was glaring at me with obvious hatred and disgust. That made me really mad since I’d already made amends for messing up her beauty time. I talked right to her and said, “I‘m sorry, do you have a problem with me?”
“Yeah I have a problem with you,” she snarled at me.
“Well I told you I was sorry. If you want me to pay for what I wasted I’ll be more than happy to do that,” I replied angrily.
“No!” she said with a look that clearly said she didn’t want my money defiling her beauty experience.
“Well, listen,” I said, “I’m not going to fight with you because I’m tired and don’t feel well. Just stop staring at me like I’m Hitler or something.”
I sat down again, but it wasn’t long before I felt something hot and pointy on my stomach. I looked down and saw that the father was using this hot pen that was supposed to draw nail polish designs on the desired nail. And he was using it on my stomach, right where my liver was and it hurt like crap. I jumped up and started yelling.
“What the hell is your problem?!” The father just shrugged.
“Do you have any idea what you’re doing to me?” He shrugged again.
“I have a liver disease, you idiot! And guess where the liver is?” I pointed to the pink nail polish staining my shirt.
“I’m waiting for a transplant and you probably just messed things up big time!” The father didn’t seem to care at all, so I went on.
“I also have a bowel disease and guess where that is?” I pointed right below the nail polish stain. “Thanks for ruining my life!” I exaggerated. It was all so incredibly infuriating and unfair. How could anyone be so heartless? The daughter piped up then.
“You’re just a little bitch, so who cares?” I gave her a burning glare.
“Same to you!” I said “I was nothing but considerate to you and you had no right to treat me this way. Forget me ever paying a dime towards your nails.”
I picked up my jacket and said, “So suck,” picked up my purse, “on,” opened the door, “this!” And I let the door slam. I ran down the flights of stairs until then ended, but I did see the father come out and try to throw something at me.
When I woke up I was lying on my right side and so my liver hurt right where the dream nail polish had been. I know it doesn’t seem that bad, but that dream was one awful nightmare. And no, I don’t usually have a temper like that. Only in my dreams… :)
Showing posts with label dreams. Show all posts
Showing posts with label dreams. Show all posts
Friday, June 20, 2008
Thursday, June 12, 2008
True Love
Does everyone in the world feel like they’re trying to reach some higher purpose? Or is it just me? Does everyone kneel on the floors of their lives, picking up puzzle pieces, never pausing from the hope (that is almost surety) that they will all fit together?
I’ve always been honest, almost to a fault. I would say that my strongest trait is honesty. I am honest with others, but I am blatantly honest with myself. I’m naturally a reflective person and I make myself answer my toughest questions. But I digress…
What I’m trying to get at is that I think I understand what I want most to experience in this word. What I’m striving for.
I want to find true love.
All spiritual endeavors aside, of course. All of the simple beauty I see in the world, all of the rich experiences, now appear to me to be wrapped up in the package of true love. But I’ve never experienced true love. For a real person, anyway…
The simple life of comfortable hours in bed, kisses, the smell of soap, eat breakfast whenever the hell we get around to it and walking in the creation of God or city. The blue jeans and tapping feet, the telling of secrets and the appreciation of quirks. The adventure, the emotions. Am I describing a honeymoon?
I want it all so much. Sometimes I feel like my growth as a person has halted and I can’t go any further until something happens. I kinda feel like that now. I want the thing that happens to be true love. But I’ve talked to God and put it all in His hands because I don’t believe that I can have true love without God’s help. Duh.
I just want something to happen. Every day is the same, with the same limitations. I feel like a prisoner in my body. My desire to do something keeping hitting this brick wall once I realize I can’t physically do it. And so I lose interest or lust after it. And I shy away from getting too involved with any one thing (guess that’s what church does to ya after awhile). Groups on the internet and what not just don’t work for me. My interests, my life, are too multi-faceted for me to into any one thing.
Maybe I just need to start writing again or something. But I still want true love. Gosh, so I sound like a Disney
princess when I say that?
Sometimes I lay awake at night thinking of my dream with the curly-haired guy. He loved me. I remember the way his hair felt on my skin, the way he smelled, the way his lips felt on my fingers and the feel of his arm around me. Most of all I remember the way he looked at me.
I’ve always been honest, almost to a fault. I would say that my strongest trait is honesty. I am honest with others, but I am blatantly honest with myself. I’m naturally a reflective person and I make myself answer my toughest questions. But I digress…
What I’m trying to get at is that I think I understand what I want most to experience in this word. What I’m striving for.
I want to find true love.
All spiritual endeavors aside, of course. All of the simple beauty I see in the world, all of the rich experiences, now appear to me to be wrapped up in the package of true love. But I’ve never experienced true love. For a real person, anyway…
The simple life of comfortable hours in bed, kisses, the smell of soap, eat breakfast whenever the hell we get around to it and walking in the creation of God or city. The blue jeans and tapping feet, the telling of secrets and the appreciation of quirks. The adventure, the emotions. Am I describing a honeymoon?
I want it all so much. Sometimes I feel like my growth as a person has halted and I can’t go any further until something happens. I kinda feel like that now. I want the thing that happens to be true love. But I’ve talked to God and put it all in His hands because I don’t believe that I can have true love without God’s help. Duh.
I just want something to happen. Every day is the same, with the same limitations. I feel like a prisoner in my body. My desire to do something keeping hitting this brick wall once I realize I can’t physically do it. And so I lose interest or lust after it. And I shy away from getting too involved with any one thing (guess that’s what church does to ya after awhile). Groups on the internet and what not just don’t work for me. My interests, my life, are too multi-faceted for me to into any one thing.
Maybe I just need to start writing again or something. But I still want true love. Gosh, so I sound like a Disney
princess when I say that?
Sometimes I lay awake at night thinking of my dream with the curly-haired guy. He loved me. I remember the way his hair felt on my skin, the way he smelled, the way his lips felt on my fingers and the feel of his arm around me. Most of all I remember the way he looked at me.
Sunday, June 8, 2008
Sleeping with boys
4 AM
My insomnia has been really bad lately. Can’t take anymore sleeping pills or else I won’t be able to work this morning. I tried working with sleeping pills in my system last Sunday. It didn’t work out so great.
Lately it’s been hard for me to spend much time in public or with my friends. I find conversation exhausting for one thing, especially since most of my friends have little in common with me. Thus, I always come across as pessimistic, grouchy and sarcastic. At least, I think I do. I’m not my happy-go-lucky self, anyway.
Secondly, it hurts too much. When I’m out in public I am watching exactly what I can’t have: close friends or a boyfriend (or both) who kind of understand me and want to have fun the way I want to have fun. It’s so selfish. Why can’t I just appreciate the loyal friends that I have? I should have realized that nothing is ever like the movies I watch or the novels I read. Maybe afterwards, looking back, my social life seems good. But I can never seem to appreciate things in the moment.
Watching boys is so hard. I’m just so starved in this sickly seclusion. I want some kind of male friend, romantic or not, who gets me, at least a little. Who will stand by me. And I have great guy friends who will stick by me. All two of them. But they don’t really know me. I think they’ve tried to understand, but I’m somehow beyond their ken.
It all hurts so much.
And I feel selfish at the same time. Isn’t what I have good enough? Isn’t God good enough?
In bed tonight (or rather, last night) after an evening of dinner, a movie and Barnes and Noble with James and Gina, I thought of the boyfriend from the dream I had last week. I can still feel what it felt like to have his soft hair on my face, to feel his fingers around mine, staunching that weird wound I had.
My insomnia is such that I’m very sleepy, but I fall only part way asleep (if at all). In my dreams I’m still a half-asleep zombie. In my dream I was in the wet grass; it was flooding with water. I dragged my tired body through the spongy puddles to the road. Despite my tiredness, I forced myself to stand up and run through the rain. I leaped into each black puddle I could, hoping to splash up some sense of meaning, of joy. I found part of an abandoned school and slept there for a time. I got up and the 24-hour neon fast food counter inside blinked at me. I recognized the boy working. Why must I be incapacitated by sleepiness when I could be talking with him? I looked a mess and my mouth was hanging open. I stumbled around for awhile before falling asleep on the stairs next to a black boy who was trying to kiss me.
I think I must be the most pathetic person alive. It’s hard knowing that nothing will change as long as I’m too sick for anything new.
My insomnia has been really bad lately. Can’t take anymore sleeping pills or else I won’t be able to work this morning. I tried working with sleeping pills in my system last Sunday. It didn’t work out so great.
Lately it’s been hard for me to spend much time in public or with my friends. I find conversation exhausting for one thing, especially since most of my friends have little in common with me. Thus, I always come across as pessimistic, grouchy and sarcastic. At least, I think I do. I’m not my happy-go-lucky self, anyway.
Secondly, it hurts too much. When I’m out in public I am watching exactly what I can’t have: close friends or a boyfriend (or both) who kind of understand me and want to have fun the way I want to have fun. It’s so selfish. Why can’t I just appreciate the loyal friends that I have? I should have realized that nothing is ever like the movies I watch or the novels I read. Maybe afterwards, looking back, my social life seems good. But I can never seem to appreciate things in the moment.
Watching boys is so hard. I’m just so starved in this sickly seclusion. I want some kind of male friend, romantic or not, who gets me, at least a little. Who will stand by me. And I have great guy friends who will stick by me. All two of them. But they don’t really know me. I think they’ve tried to understand, but I’m somehow beyond their ken.
It all hurts so much.
And I feel selfish at the same time. Isn’t what I have good enough? Isn’t God good enough?
In bed tonight (or rather, last night) after an evening of dinner, a movie and Barnes and Noble with James and Gina, I thought of the boyfriend from the dream I had last week. I can still feel what it felt like to have his soft hair on my face, to feel his fingers around mine, staunching that weird wound I had.
My insomnia is such that I’m very sleepy, but I fall only part way asleep (if at all). In my dreams I’m still a half-asleep zombie. In my dream I was in the wet grass; it was flooding with water. I dragged my tired body through the spongy puddles to the road. Despite my tiredness, I forced myself to stand up and run through the rain. I leaped into each black puddle I could, hoping to splash up some sense of meaning, of joy. I found part of an abandoned school and slept there for a time. I got up and the 24-hour neon fast food counter inside blinked at me. I recognized the boy working. Why must I be incapacitated by sleepiness when I could be talking with him? I looked a mess and my mouth was hanging open. I stumbled around for awhile before falling asleep on the stairs next to a black boy who was trying to kiss me.
I think I must be the most pathetic person alive. It’s hard knowing that nothing will change as long as I’m too sick for anything new.
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