Monday, August 22, 2016

Ol' 55 - Ain't this what dreams are made of...

Ever have a dream so fucking vivid that you wanted to take a day off just to sit and remember it and process it?  Or so rife with startlingly relevant imagery that you need 24 hours to find a way to forget it?  Time will take care of the latter part.  It's already starting to fade out.  Or maybe not fade out.  I don't think we forget dreams so much as they get reabsorbed into the brain, even the ones we just have once.

Or maybe we never have a dream just once.  It's a hard call with recollection to dodgy.  Maybe we keep having them over and over and over and over and we just don't remember them.  It could very well be that this one I had right before the alarm has happened a thousand times and it just stuck in the present a little better this time around.

Opens with me talking to my handicapped brother and warning him that "mom is really serious and wants everything cleaned up and ready to pack into the truck.  She's going to throw it all out otherwise."  He's lying in the dark and refuses to move or even respond.  Somehow, maybe in a part of the dream I can't remember, she's communicated to me that she can't have him sitting around forever doing nothing and he's got to get his shit packed up and ready to go or she's putting it all to the curb.  I'm agitated and angry with him for his lack of response, or maybe his inability to respond.  He's just lying there in the semi-dark.  The room smells of sweat and old blankets.  It smells a place that doesn't see the light.  It's stale and stiff.

Cut to an empty room, or empty except for two chairs and me in one, and my ex-wife in another.  She is now the mother that gave the warning but my handicapped brother is still my brother.  She's doing that voice she does because I think sometimes she doesn't even know what her own voice sounds like.  Everyone else in her family has a strong Brooklyn/Long Island accent, but she sounds kind of like Madonna in an interview.  Not quite American but not quite English.  Distracting because you know it's a put on.  I'm annoyed with her in the dream, or rather the accent is annoying me.  I want to ask her where she thinks she's from but she's busy carrying on about how it would make her a bad mother if she did nothing.  She's giving some kind of a tough love speech and she's not going to be interrupted.  I'm trying to make excuses for my brother but she's not listening.  She's rattling off an inventory next about what's getting tossed while I defend that it's all he has in the whole world.  Books.  Old clothes.  And then an adult-sized tricycle and this is where the dream becomes lucid and the present starts to leak back in.  My roommate now has an identical tricycle and I'm thinking about how strange it is that it's the same, and that my ex-wife is now mother to my older brother...

And then cut to alarm and I'm awake.

Oh dear.

A friend told me last night that I get strange every year around my birthday, and I wondered if she'd been reading my blog but decided it didn't matter.  She knows me just well enough that she's not talking shit.  It's true.  My birthday kicks up my shit.  I said it just yesterday.  But she knows me just well enough.  How well? Not really sure.  I think about that sometimes.  Despite that we were lovers, and now friends, how well does she know me, if at all?  I get annoyed sometimes and think that she never really got out of her own head long enough to get to know me, but is that really her that I'm thinking about?  Or is it her specifically or do I think that about everyone?  Is it a "nobody really really understands me" weepy jag?  There is some truth to it I think but maybe my annoyance is that I'm just tired of being inventoried by other people, at least one in particular who seems absolutely certain that she knows me better than I know myself.  Another ex-lover and ostensibly a friend moving forward.  The line "try looking in a fucking mirror" keeps raising its ugly head but that's not quite fair either.

"how does all this heartbreak, call me lovingly?  How does it know how to open the door?"

"Oh you taught it how, and what you still allow, to keep the keys will use them, even now.  They'll come to call on you.  They'll haunt you for sure."  ~ Chris Smither

That sums up the dream world, doesn't it?

I'm going to just leave this all here for the moment while I process dreams and apparently, lasting resentments towards people and feelings that I have left with extra keys.

Happy birthday to me.  Happy birthday to me.

I never said Sigmund Freud was useless, dear Mother.

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