The Girl Who Lost Her Face

2/22/10

I was running late for work, trying to get dressed and make breakfast. I made a sandwich and had to round up clean clothes. And at the last minute I went to the LOC or a museum instead. It was great playing hooky. There was a boy with Down's syndrome there who was being insulted by some guy. Someone--not sure if it was me?--defends the child.

Tim is there. We gloat over missing work and look at art in the small blond wood building.

I read a magazine with a feature about celebrities recognizing themselves sleeping. There's a mongolian actress named Minnow and I can read her name in Mandarin.

I see a movie of the Beatles dancing. They're wearing hats made of thatched flowers and weeds.

There's a cult leader visiting a compound while his acolytes are trying to bake. For some reason they'll be in big trouble if they're caught in the act of baking. We throw flour and mixing bowls into cabinets and the oven at top speed. I think they're idiots.

I walk down a sidewalk in a sort of art fair with a big gruff looking but handsome man. We talk about a folk tale called "The Girl Who Lost Her Face". I feel very clever. I think I have a crush on the guy.

I'm at one of the booths at the fair. The boss guy in a watch cap won't let his girl assistant go to the bathroom. I offer to take over while she takes a break. The boss is smug and obnoxious. I finally call him a twerp, assuring him that I know the real meaning of the word.

I'm with a female friend who I don't recognize. We're playing out a scene I know has already happened. She was mauled by a mountain lion. We each have a beautiful cage-like bed, with a metal grille. We have the implements to lock them, fat, clumsy ornamented locks that slip over the open prongs of the grille. I'm having trouble weaving the metal together and I know hers is worse. We're running out of time and I urge her to get into my bed but she won't.

Kitten Waiting Room; Grocery Store; Read Everything; Canoe Plot

2/21/10

Visiting the shrink's office. In the ante room she had about four kittens. I play with a little white one and see its description on like a patient intake form. There are some vague shadowy nurse type figures around. The Kitten clings to my hand.

Going to visit Al for pizza. I'm with Kristie and we're a little lost in Williamsburg. It starts to rain and I open my umbrella. I feel the raindrops on my legs still. We duck into a huge grocery store and see a woman and her family trying to buy orange juice. Kristie gets some prepared shrimp kebabs and I get a basket and start to wend my way up a staircase. When I get to the top it's my living room in VA but the office is there. We have some old grouchy assistant guy. He's reading my summary of what I know is a bad thriller. He says "You thought the prose was excellent?" I hedge and say, "Well, not excellent." I get a little angry and tear the cover sheet. "You don't have to read it. But I think we should read things when there's a question of whether it's good or not." I feel kind of righteous and glad I'm finally yelling at this old guy.

I realize that the story from the thriller is taken from a carved canoe. The figures in the canoe are characters in the story. They're like the canoes in the Oceana exhibit at the Met.

This was a let down of a dream from last night. Last night's was so good. I had an interesting conversation with Al last night. He said that at some times in his life his dreams sometimes predicted or prepared him for things that actually happened. This is in line with what Jung thought--he thought our subconsciouses would perceive things and then try to tell us. Al was saying that he thought it was to emotionally prepare you for something, I think.

I think this is interesting but kind of bunk. I don't think dreams have an agenda that serves us so directly.

He also mentioned that he had dreams where he was being swept away by huge waves. But as he got older he learned how to hold on to a pole. We talked about being stronger in our dreams as we got older. For me, it was about when I was 18, right when I went to college.