Original Post Date: 27 July 05 Wednesday
Original Post Title: Dream #6 and Insomnia
Last night I tossed and turned all night. I dreampt that the bike I wanted finally arrived at my door step. It was light as a feather, and I slung it over my shoulder to carry it effortlessly up the stairs. It was a nice dream until i tried taking the bike out for a ride. In real life, I have to get through the basement door, a wooden gate and a metal gate to get to the street. Usually not a problem. In my dream, there were gates, upon gates, upon doors, upon gangways, upon stair cases. There were random objects in my way such as logs, railroad ties, cinder blocks, big tangled weeds (hmmm, sounds like too much PitFall). Though the bike was light the path was arduous. Any interpretations aside form the obvious? The overall feeling I had was of satisfaction. I wasn't worried about the hurdles or the doors. I was so glad to have that bike. I remember the handle bars being wrapped in very nice clean crisp white tape. It was shiny and I was so proud to have it. The man I was buying it from was waiting for me to return after the final test drive, and only when I remembered I still had to pay him, did the doors and gangways and gates become hazardous and painstakingly difficult to get through. I knew the man was waiting, I knew he was becoming agitated with my extended absence. I tried to hurry, and that only got me stuck in the door ways, or made more doorways appear. It was frustrating. As usual, I don't clearly recall the end of the dream, so I don't know if I paid the man, or if he was angry. What I do know is that today I bought a new bike. The handlebars are wrapped in clean new white tape.
02 January 2010
Archival Retrieval 6 - 14 June 05 Tuesday
Original Post Date: 14 Jun 05 Tuesday
Original Post Title: Dream #5
I slept over my friend Joe's house. I guess in my sleep I was sobbing, and he came over and hugged me and stroked my head. I didn't wake from this dream until later. I was at my grandmother's house. A house I haven't been to in almost 12 years. It was during the time she died. Somewhere in between the wake and the funeral. Or after it. Or before it. I don't know. I just know that she was dead, and newly dead at that. She wasn't actually in the dream. It was her absence that I was acutely aware of. I was looking through some clothes, in the tiny room at the top of the stairs, my uncle Pat's old room. I found something pretty and lacy, and old fashioned. A nightdress I think. I wanted to try it on. I slipped it over my head and went across the hall to gaze at myself in my grandmother's clothes using the big mirror that attached to her long. low bureau (which is now my long low bureau with the big mirror). The room was dim, and I fumbled for a light switch. There was a switch on the inside of the door, and the outside of the door. No matter what combination of switches on and off, I couldn't get the lights to stay on. Almost as if there were something in there I wasn't allowed to see. Or wasn't allowing myself to see. I finally just went in and tried to use the little light that came in from around the curtained window to peer at my foggy reflection. I turned around, and in my grandmother's room, her large four poster bed, which for those few years was our fourposter bed because I slept in her bed with her when she was so sick (She died of cancer) was dismantled and leaning against the walls. Taken apart. Because she was no longer there to sleep in it. I stared at those bed pieces, (which are also now my bed, along with the bureau) and slowly realized, she would never sleep there again. She would never lie next to me, muttering Hail Mary's in a soft voice as I fell asleep, never tease me with ice cold toes under the covers, never push play in the little tape recorder by the bed to drift off to whale song or Holy Choirs singing, which she fondly called her "angels singing" tape. Her rosary was gone, her pill box still full of meds never to be swallowed. Her smell was diminishing from the room. Her essence, her energy. She wasn't there. I backed up out of the room, suddenly overcome and terrified by realization. I fell backwards over more things stacked up in the hall way, ready to be thrown away or donated because she no longer needed them. My brother saw me fall and looked at me from the end of the hall, but did nothing. He watched my cry, and I cried so hard. lying on the floor facing her dark empty chasm of a bedroom. My chest was hurting. i was bursting at the seams with grief. It was so difficult to breathe. I felt that my brother couldn't relate. He didn't love her like I did. He didnt know what she meant to me. The only person I trusted. The first person I gave my whole heart to. Gone. Forever. It hurt just as bad upon waking and finding the dream remnant tears in my eyes as it had 12 years ago, the day I called her house and my mother answered her phone. I had tried to call the hospital earlier that day, as I had called every day to tell Gramma I love her, and I'd see her soon. But that day a nurse had answered the phone, and told me to call the front desk. The front desk told me to call the family. I didn't understand what that meant. I called her house, thinking she'd gone home. How right i was. Hi mom. Why are you there? i thought you went shopping? Is Gramma home? where is she? I don;t remember the phone falling out of my hands. I hardly remember my friend Sarah helping my instantly numb body off the floor and to the couch. I had been eating something. Oscar Mayer bologna. it sat on the arm of the couch, cold, limp. somehow emulating me. Someone came to get me. I don't know where Sarah went. The rest feels like I dreampt it. But it was real. I have to keep telling myself that. Part of me still doesn't believe it.
Original Post Title: Dream #5
I slept over my friend Joe's house. I guess in my sleep I was sobbing, and he came over and hugged me and stroked my head. I didn't wake from this dream until later. I was at my grandmother's house. A house I haven't been to in almost 12 years. It was during the time she died. Somewhere in between the wake and the funeral. Or after it. Or before it. I don't know. I just know that she was dead, and newly dead at that. She wasn't actually in the dream. It was her absence that I was acutely aware of. I was looking through some clothes, in the tiny room at the top of the stairs, my uncle Pat's old room. I found something pretty and lacy, and old fashioned. A nightdress I think. I wanted to try it on. I slipped it over my head and went across the hall to gaze at myself in my grandmother's clothes using the big mirror that attached to her long. low bureau (which is now my long low bureau with the big mirror). The room was dim, and I fumbled for a light switch. There was a switch on the inside of the door, and the outside of the door. No matter what combination of switches on and off, I couldn't get the lights to stay on. Almost as if there were something in there I wasn't allowed to see. Or wasn't allowing myself to see. I finally just went in and tried to use the little light that came in from around the curtained window to peer at my foggy reflection. I turned around, and in my grandmother's room, her large four poster bed, which for those few years was our fourposter bed because I slept in her bed with her when she was so sick (She died of cancer) was dismantled and leaning against the walls. Taken apart. Because she was no longer there to sleep in it. I stared at those bed pieces, (which are also now my bed, along with the bureau) and slowly realized, she would never sleep there again. She would never lie next to me, muttering Hail Mary's in a soft voice as I fell asleep, never tease me with ice cold toes under the covers, never push play in the little tape recorder by the bed to drift off to whale song or Holy Choirs singing, which she fondly called her "angels singing" tape. Her rosary was gone, her pill box still full of meds never to be swallowed. Her smell was diminishing from the room. Her essence, her energy. She wasn't there. I backed up out of the room, suddenly overcome and terrified by realization. I fell backwards over more things stacked up in the hall way, ready to be thrown away or donated because she no longer needed them. My brother saw me fall and looked at me from the end of the hall, but did nothing. He watched my cry, and I cried so hard. lying on the floor facing her dark empty chasm of a bedroom. My chest was hurting. i was bursting at the seams with grief. It was so difficult to breathe. I felt that my brother couldn't relate. He didn't love her like I did. He didnt know what she meant to me. The only person I trusted. The first person I gave my whole heart to. Gone. Forever. It hurt just as bad upon waking and finding the dream remnant tears in my eyes as it had 12 years ago, the day I called her house and my mother answered her phone. I had tried to call the hospital earlier that day, as I had called every day to tell Gramma I love her, and I'd see her soon. But that day a nurse had answered the phone, and told me to call the front desk. The front desk told me to call the family. I didn't understand what that meant. I called her house, thinking she'd gone home. How right i was. Hi mom. Why are you there? i thought you went shopping? Is Gramma home? where is she? I don;t remember the phone falling out of my hands. I hardly remember my friend Sarah helping my instantly numb body off the floor and to the couch. I had been eating something. Oscar Mayer bologna. it sat on the arm of the couch, cold, limp. somehow emulating me. Someone came to get me. I don't know where Sarah went. The rest feels like I dreampt it. But it was real. I have to keep telling myself that. Part of me still doesn't believe it.
Archive Retreival 5 - 11 May 05 Wednesday
Original Post Date: 11 May 05 Wednesday
Original Post Title: Dream #4
Original Post Title: Dream #4
I was in this house, and one of my roommates had commited suicide right in the kitchen, shot himself in the head and there was blood everywhere. but he had written this song explaining why he had to do it, so every one was ok with it and just left him there, sitting up against a cabinet. I went over to the door, and out side a car with an old wise man was in it. (Carl Jung any one?) I knew that he was my teacher, but not in an academic sense, more like he was my Sensei, or Guide. He didnt want to come into the house, and wouldn't look at me. He seemed afraid and sad. I coaxed him in and was very gentle and soothing to him, holding his hand and saying how great it was that he had returned. (tho i didnt know where he had been). So he was in the house, and then I looked into my room, and up on my loft was a baby girl. She was also wearing the same Converse sneakers I was, but baby size. She was up there and had just woken and was kicking at the ceiling fan, like it was a mobile. I started walking in the room, and she sat up , rolled over and started to fall. I saw her falling, and knew I could catch her if I moved fast, but I didnt I just walked over as she fell onto the floor. The sound she made hitting the hard wood was horrible. She didn't move. I picked her up and she wasnt crying. The right side of her face was smashed in fromthe floor. it was then that i realised she wasn't my baby, and that some one had left her in my care (the Teacher maybe) and I had failed and broken the baby. then my alarm went off and I woke up.
Archive retreival 4 - 11 May 05 Wednesday
Original Post Date: 11 May 05 Wednesday
Original Post Title: Dream #3
Anxiety dreams. I dreampt that all the cool stickers on my computer were flaking off and I was mad. then I dreampt that my iPod was made of wax, and I accidentally slammed it in the car door and then dropped it and then it melted with all my music and files on it. I dream that I am waking up when I am asleep, because I know I am going to wake up 15 times a night. its weird dreaming about being awake, then waking up and going "wait was I dreaming that? Am I dreaming this? what's going on?"
Original Post Title: Dream #3
Anxiety dreams. I dreampt that all the cool stickers on my computer were flaking off and I was mad. then I dreampt that my iPod was made of wax, and I accidentally slammed it in the car door and then dropped it and then it melted with all my music and files on it. I dream that I am waking up when I am asleep, because I know I am going to wake up 15 times a night. its weird dreaming about being awake, then waking up and going "wait was I dreaming that? Am I dreaming this? what's going on?"
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