![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
Jun. 3rd, 2004
I deamt....
Jun. 3rd, 2004 10:30 amI dreamt last night of skin. I dreamt someone started something with me, then wandered off-- I spent the rest of the dream looking for him, feeling...unfinished, knowing I wouldn't find him. I woke up not entirely sure what my subconscious was trying to tell me: aren't dreams supposed to reveal things you aren't really aware of?
I dreamt yesterday of someone else-- I was at some kind of party, or a gig, and he was playing drums. But someone was in my way, or I couldn't hear, or something, and by the time everything cleared, he was done. I couldn't get to him. Again, as if I didn't know. I'm trying to remember if the drumming is something from memory, or some odd Roger Taylor longing coming back to me.
I feel constricted. I feel like I'm not sure I know any more what's safe to say, and what isn't. I hear people talking about me, and it's incredibly odd. I'm lucky-- I have good friends, and few enemies, so this isn't about cruelty or vengeance. Perhaps it's just my own fascination with human nature that makes me consider this.
I got very strange news from my family. It's news that should make me jaw-droppingly happy, and I'm quite sure, when it sinks in, it will. But part of me is stunned almost to tears, and feeling something almost akin to fear. Part of it, I must wryly admit, is that I just don't know how to handle good news any more. How dreadful is that? On some level, I'm fully aware that pride goeth and all, and that where there's a gorgeous five-inch Italian calfskin hand-tooled Manolo Blahnik already on the ground, there's a mud-encrusted, toxically odiferous, cut-rate Timberland knock-off just waiting up there somewhere. I would thank G-d-- amongst other, more earthly parties, of course-- were I not sneakingly suspicious that every time I talk to The Creator, said Deity is reminded enough of my existence to say to the angelic minions, "Oh, her. Whatever she's on about, just say no, okay?" I'm about at the stage where if I really want to reassure someone, I'll promise NOT to pray for them.
But on this more mundane plane, my resolution to actually get to work on time herein kicks in. The shower is calling: my legs feel like velcro. Shudder.
I dreamt yesterday of someone else-- I was at some kind of party, or a gig, and he was playing drums. But someone was in my way, or I couldn't hear, or something, and by the time everything cleared, he was done. I couldn't get to him. Again, as if I didn't know. I'm trying to remember if the drumming is something from memory, or some odd Roger Taylor longing coming back to me.
I feel constricted. I feel like I'm not sure I know any more what's safe to say, and what isn't. I hear people talking about me, and it's incredibly odd. I'm lucky-- I have good friends, and few enemies, so this isn't about cruelty or vengeance. Perhaps it's just my own fascination with human nature that makes me consider this.
I got very strange news from my family. It's news that should make me jaw-droppingly happy, and I'm quite sure, when it sinks in, it will. But part of me is stunned almost to tears, and feeling something almost akin to fear. Part of it, I must wryly admit, is that I just don't know how to handle good news any more. How dreadful is that? On some level, I'm fully aware that pride goeth and all, and that where there's a gorgeous five-inch Italian calfskin hand-tooled Manolo Blahnik already on the ground, there's a mud-encrusted, toxically odiferous, cut-rate Timberland knock-off just waiting up there somewhere. I would thank G-d-- amongst other, more earthly parties, of course-- were I not sneakingly suspicious that every time I talk to The Creator, said Deity is reminded enough of my existence to say to the angelic minions, "Oh, her. Whatever she's on about, just say no, okay?" I'm about at the stage where if I really want to reassure someone, I'll promise NOT to pray for them.
But on this more mundane plane, my resolution to actually get to work on time herein kicks in. The shower is calling: my legs feel like velcro. Shudder.