1/30/10
I'm a kid in my old neighborhood in VA. We're walking along the side of 123, a two lane semi-highway. The grass is long at the side of the road. Our parents told us to loop to the right around Kirby but I argue it's actually safer to go into our neighborhood. I turn and the gang of kids follows me. As we go down the steep hill, I see that everyone is dressed for Halloween, even though it's springtime and the middle of the day. I remember that Halloween was postponed last year after some disaster.
I get to my yard. My stepfather has changed the garden. He's extended the slate path all the way to the wild margin of the yard. He took out the circle of pachysandra and replaced it with huge flat sections of stone that rotate, like a mill stone. He's made a bench for my mother. I realize it's because my mother is very sick and she needs a smoother garden. I'm worried. We always assumed my stepfather would die first. Who will take care of him now?
I'm visiting friends of friends, a married couple, A and K. They have a huge, glamorous house. We're getting ready to go out. I go to the rest room and K follows me in, gabbing. I have trouble turning on the light. I can only get one little inadequate light to go on. K hands me a book with a interesting drawing of a topless devil woman on the cover. I would like to read it but she's still around. I finally kind of yell at her to get out.
Outside, I meet up with A and K and their gardener and my brother and his family. We somehow all pile into my mother's golden car. We're going to the movies. I section up a plate of brownies using a cardboard rectangle.
I meet with D, a nice girl I've been trying to befriend. We're in a golden city, canals and bridges and shops. It's late and we have to figure out how we're getting home but we also have to carry potted plants.
In a sort of fashion show. I'm wearing something elegant and I have to let people take my picture. Then I take pictures of another elegantly dressed girl. I think we're all taking turns with the camera.
Good, I remembered this one better. I wrote it down in detail right when I woke up. I remember reading that light is one of the hardest things to control in dreams and not being able to turn on a switch should be a cue to spark a lucid dream. Well, it didn't work last night and instead just irritated me.
I've been having a lot of dreams where I'm being thwarted in bathrooms too.
This was mostly a pleasant dream. I've been dreaming of beauty a lot lately. It's conspicuously absent from my life right now as the weather is so miserable and I spend a lot of time putting on three sweaters.
Saturday, January 30, 2010
Sit In My Lap I Bite Your Face; I Prefer The Sketches
1/29/10
I'm at a camp or boarding house for girls. I sit in the spacious bathroom and a lecherous old man comes and sits in my lap. At first I'm angry but unembarassed. Then I bite him and topple him off.
I'm in a gallery, looking at series of sketches and paintings. Some are very detailed drawings and some are bold but sloppy paintings. I like the sketches best. I identify them as being by Nabakov.
Wow, my note-taking has become worse and worse. I remember the old guy and the drawings but not much action surrounding them. The drawing by Nabakov comes from visiting the Jane Austen exhibit at the Morgan Library, where there are two pages of notes by Nabakov for a lecture he used to give about Mansfield Park. He drew the barouche that the Bertrams took and even drew in where everyone was sitting. It was hasty and sloppy but kind of great.
I'm at a camp or boarding house for girls. I sit in the spacious bathroom and a lecherous old man comes and sits in my lap. At first I'm angry but unembarassed. Then I bite him and topple him off.
I'm in a gallery, looking at series of sketches and paintings. Some are very detailed drawings and some are bold but sloppy paintings. I like the sketches best. I identify them as being by Nabakov.
Wow, my note-taking has become worse and worse. I remember the old guy and the drawings but not much action surrounding them. The drawing by Nabakov comes from visiting the Jane Austen exhibit at the Morgan Library, where there are two pages of notes by Nabakov for a lecture he used to give about Mansfield Park. He drew the barouche that the Bertrams took and even drew in where everyone was sitting. It was hasty and sloppy but kind of great.
Pink Lingerie; Floating Old Ladies; Spoon Bouquet
1/28/10
I'm sifting through piles of luscious pale pink lingerie. It's more cotton than silk. There's a table just heaped with pieces. I can't always tell what kind of garments they are, like light sweaters or tights or what, but I'm very enthusiastic.
I'm in the ocean on a pretty morning or sunset. It's somewhere where wooded islands are dotting the water, like the Chesapeake Bay or the Folly Channel. There's a crowd of people floating in the water and from a boat some military gang is haranguing them. Then I'm in the water and I see everyone else is an elderly woman, with long silvery hair wet from the water. The military guy is saying everyone should have a crew cut. I point out that we could kick his ass even with long hair.
I'm running on a stretch of asphalt. It's like the loop in central park, torn up and scattered with flattened pieces of horse dung. I'm having trouble going as fast as I want and soon I'm running with my hands as well, scrambling up a steed slope and pulling out chunks of asphalt with my hands.
I'm washes dishes. There's a bunch of white plastic measuring spoons, many more than would be on a regular bunch. It looks like a bouquet.
I've gotten in the habit of just writing down little reminders in a notebook and planning to post later. The reminders are not enough. For this entry, I also put down the following: "All the men died--mourning--back acne" but now I have no idea what I was dreaming. I have to put down the whole description and mood otherwise stuff just disappears. If I describe it carefully I can remember it, but otherwise no. Kind of frustrating. Why does it require so much detail when something that happened in waking life would only need a few words to recall?
I seem to be having a lot of shopping dreams lately. They are usually both pleasurable and anxious. Might it have something to do with how I think of myself as looking? They are often very specific and sensual, with the pieces of cloth being the most vivid part of the dream.
I'm sifting through piles of luscious pale pink lingerie. It's more cotton than silk. There's a table just heaped with pieces. I can't always tell what kind of garments they are, like light sweaters or tights or what, but I'm very enthusiastic.
I'm in the ocean on a pretty morning or sunset. It's somewhere where wooded islands are dotting the water, like the Chesapeake Bay or the Folly Channel. There's a crowd of people floating in the water and from a boat some military gang is haranguing them. Then I'm in the water and I see everyone else is an elderly woman, with long silvery hair wet from the water. The military guy is saying everyone should have a crew cut. I point out that we could kick his ass even with long hair.
I'm running on a stretch of asphalt. It's like the loop in central park, torn up and scattered with flattened pieces of horse dung. I'm having trouble going as fast as I want and soon I'm running with my hands as well, scrambling up a steed slope and pulling out chunks of asphalt with my hands.
I'm washes dishes. There's a bunch of white plastic measuring spoons, many more than would be on a regular bunch. It looks like a bouquet.
I've gotten in the habit of just writing down little reminders in a notebook and planning to post later. The reminders are not enough. For this entry, I also put down the following: "All the men died--mourning--back acne" but now I have no idea what I was dreaming. I have to put down the whole description and mood otherwise stuff just disappears. If I describe it carefully I can remember it, but otherwise no. Kind of frustrating. Why does it require so much detail when something that happened in waking life would only need a few words to recall?
I seem to be having a lot of shopping dreams lately. They are usually both pleasurable and anxious. Might it have something to do with how I think of myself as looking? They are often very specific and sensual, with the pieces of cloth being the most vivid part of the dream.
Wednesday, January 27, 2010
Disaster!; Alien 4; Flowers; Map
1/27/10
Preparing for a disaster. I'm over at M's place, writing, and we're also casually talking about some impending war. He's also having girlfriend troubles. We climb into a bed together to sleep before disaster hits and start having sex.
Seeing something like the fourth Alien movie where there are lots of mutant failed versions of Ellen Ripley's clone. They don't seem that distressed, though.
In a kitchen with friends of M's. His girlfriend is there too. I tell her the bouquet on the table is beautiful. It's green and white flowers.
Looking down at a map/ alat a map that's also a landscape. It's a terraced green mountain.
Preparing for a disaster. I'm over at M's place, writing, and we're also casually talking about some impending war. He's also having girlfriend troubles. We climb into a bed together to sleep before disaster hits and start having sex.
Seeing something like the fourth Alien movie where there are lots of mutant failed versions of Ellen Ripley's clone. They don't seem that distressed, though.
In a kitchen with friends of M's. His girlfriend is there too. I tell her the bouquet on the table is beautiful. It's green and white flowers.
Looking down at a map/ alat a map that's also a landscape. It's a terraced green mountain.
Monday, January 25, 2010
Young Bartending; Drinking in the Bathroom; Shoe Puppets; Monster Slayer on the Train
1/25/20
At a small, chic bar, I'm surprised to see my friend D is bartending. He gets me a big drink and tells me that he's lucked into this job but hates it. He goes around, being a horrible bartender. He ignores people and gives them like his sock instead of a drink. One of his bosses says they admire his working through school. Without thinking I blurt that he's not in school, he's too old. But then I look at him again and he's become a pudgy, round-faced youth. I pull him aside and apologize and explain I might have blown his cover. I didn't realize he was here incognito.
Then I'm a waitress, on a ship or something. Or I've been mistaken for a waitress. I find myself trapped in a corner with some grouchy old ladies. One of them asks if I can take an order. I don't have a book of restaurant tickets, but I have my memo pad from the office, so I write down what she wants and scamper off.
I'm in a spacious, nicely decorated bathroom of a farmhouse in Rhode Isalnd. I'm with a guy I know and we're having plum wine or sake out of little ceramic cups. I'm either revving up for a date or trying to avoid one, I can't remember.
The bathroom opens out into a hallway which turns into a narrow, dark beach. There's a collection of old shoes. I take two thong sandals and draw little faces on them and put them on my hands. This is part of an old tradition of shoe puppets.
On a train, a young woman who is a monster slayer is putting together pieces of paper like a puzzle to show a copy of the tapestry that shows her killing a monster.
I feel like I had lots of disconnected dreams last night, which I usually don't. Maybe I wasn't sleeping well and kept waking up? The biggest impression I have from all the dreams was a sort of summery, rollicking feel to them, especially drinking in the bathroom.
At a small, chic bar, I'm surprised to see my friend D is bartending. He gets me a big drink and tells me that he's lucked into this job but hates it. He goes around, being a horrible bartender. He ignores people and gives them like his sock instead of a drink. One of his bosses says they admire his working through school. Without thinking I blurt that he's not in school, he's too old. But then I look at him again and he's become a pudgy, round-faced youth. I pull him aside and apologize and explain I might have blown his cover. I didn't realize he was here incognito.
Then I'm a waitress, on a ship or something. Or I've been mistaken for a waitress. I find myself trapped in a corner with some grouchy old ladies. One of them asks if I can take an order. I don't have a book of restaurant tickets, but I have my memo pad from the office, so I write down what she wants and scamper off.
I'm in a spacious, nicely decorated bathroom of a farmhouse in Rhode Isalnd. I'm with a guy I know and we're having plum wine or sake out of little ceramic cups. I'm either revving up for a date or trying to avoid one, I can't remember.
The bathroom opens out into a hallway which turns into a narrow, dark beach. There's a collection of old shoes. I take two thong sandals and draw little faces on them and put them on my hands. This is part of an old tradition of shoe puppets.
On a train, a young woman who is a monster slayer is putting together pieces of paper like a puzzle to show a copy of the tapestry that shows her killing a monster.
I feel like I had lots of disconnected dreams last night, which I usually don't. Maybe I wasn't sleeping well and kept waking up? The biggest impression I have from all the dreams was a sort of summery, rollicking feel to them, especially drinking in the bathroom.
Sunday, January 24, 2010
Dinner Party One Up Manship; Snowy Park
1/24/10
I'm around a big table with a bunch of over-dressed Jersey girl types. We're eating a fancy dinner. I'm carefully flaking some fish in a rich salty sauce. There's some sort of one-up-manship going on. I pull out my trump card, which is speaking Chinese. I speak some pretty clumsy Chinese and look up and realize all the Jersey girls are all Chinese girls. I'm busted. I finish the meal and excuse myself.
I walk out into Central Park with two older guys. I think they're academics, or experts, or comic book guys or something. They're delighted with my company and we walk through the park. It's very beautiful. Enormous, slow snowflakes are coming down and our foot prints cut a black track up and down the steep hills.
Well I did the thing where I woke up and thought for sure I'd remember everything and didn't need to write it down, so of course I forgot a bunch of details. I'm pretty sure the dinner party started out with Jersey Girls and they didn't change until after I'd been speaking Chinese for a while.
The park part was very lovely. The light was strange. I couldn't tell if it was night, or a gray day, or what. But the shades of gray and black were very rich and there was a sort of snowy day muffled quality to everything. Maybe no sound.
I'm around a big table with a bunch of over-dressed Jersey girl types. We're eating a fancy dinner. I'm carefully flaking some fish in a rich salty sauce. There's some sort of one-up-manship going on. I pull out my trump card, which is speaking Chinese. I speak some pretty clumsy Chinese and look up and realize all the Jersey girls are all Chinese girls. I'm busted. I finish the meal and excuse myself.
I walk out into Central Park with two older guys. I think they're academics, or experts, or comic book guys or something. They're delighted with my company and we walk through the park. It's very beautiful. Enormous, slow snowflakes are coming down and our foot prints cut a black track up and down the steep hills.
Well I did the thing where I woke up and thought for sure I'd remember everything and didn't need to write it down, so of course I forgot a bunch of details. I'm pretty sure the dinner party started out with Jersey Girls and they didn't change until after I'd been speaking Chinese for a while.
The park part was very lovely. The light was strange. I couldn't tell if it was night, or a gray day, or what. But the shades of gray and black were very rich and there was a sort of snowy day muffled quality to everything. Maybe no sound.
Saturday, January 23, 2010
Call; Pants; Hitler Mustache
1/23/10
Several dreams of calling up T and declaring love. Very centered around my actual shitty phone. The reception is weird. Switching back and forth from computer screen to phone. Vague communication but I'm determined to get through. He's surprised but takes it well. In the dream I'm not anxious but just sort of ready and feeling strong.
Towards the end of the night a clearer dream. I'm in college. I go from the hilly campus with a new girl friend, then we go second hand clothes shopping. There are gauzy curtains everywhere. I don't want anything for myself but when I get back to the dorm room I call the Conan O'Brien show and am put on the air. I offer to send Conan a pair of mint green checked pants I had seen there. He's playing it as a bit and I'm hilarious. I don't actually have the pants. I hang up and feel triumphant.
Some other people are around, baking. I sneak downstairs in the early morning to find my mother complaining that I want her to expand a dress I'd bought so my friend can fit into it. I refute this hotly. My stepfather has shaved his full Kenny Rogers beard into sort of a Hitler mustache and looks startled to see me speak so angrily.
Back upstairs I play trivia with some conservative old men and regale them with my knowledge about Gutsom Borglum.
About to call. Actually terrified.
Several dreams of calling up T and declaring love. Very centered around my actual shitty phone. The reception is weird. Switching back and forth from computer screen to phone. Vague communication but I'm determined to get through. He's surprised but takes it well. In the dream I'm not anxious but just sort of ready and feeling strong.
Towards the end of the night a clearer dream. I'm in college. I go from the hilly campus with a new girl friend, then we go second hand clothes shopping. There are gauzy curtains everywhere. I don't want anything for myself but when I get back to the dorm room I call the Conan O'Brien show and am put on the air. I offer to send Conan a pair of mint green checked pants I had seen there. He's playing it as a bit and I'm hilarious. I don't actually have the pants. I hang up and feel triumphant.
Some other people are around, baking. I sneak downstairs in the early morning to find my mother complaining that I want her to expand a dress I'd bought so my friend can fit into it. I refute this hotly. My stepfather has shaved his full Kenny Rogers beard into sort of a Hitler mustache and looks startled to see me speak so angrily.
Back upstairs I play trivia with some conservative old men and regale them with my knowledge about Gutsom Borglum.
About to call. Actually terrified.
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