dream, Mon 2/1/2012
I looked in the bathroom mirror and opened my mouth wide to see that I had two rows of teeth in my lower jaw. It frightened me as I knew I'd have to go to the dentist to get the inner lower row of teeth pulled out.
Literature is my mistress, music my wife.
I looked in the bathroom mirror and opened my mouth wide to see that I had two rows of teeth in my lower jaw. It frightened me as I knew I'd have to go to the dentist to get the inner lower row of teeth pulled out.
I was talking to a former friend who had a similar history of illness and sexual assault. In real life, everything was a competition to her - this meant sickness too. She seemed surprised when, reluctantly, I answered her questions about some of the medication I'd had to take. She told me I could get one of my medications for free from one of my father's workmates who in the dream was my area's local general practitioner. I can remember thinking in my dream head that she reminded me of a nasty version of Rory Gilmore from the television show Gilmore Girls - she had a well-off family, was well-read, ambitious to a fault. I remember thinking that it was nice of her to put aside her nastiness towards me for one conversation but was puzzled by it too. I was still very careful what I told her because I knew she was still capable of being nasty.
My mother was in the dream too but a bit later. She asked me if I wanted strawberries and I said yes. She gave me two but I demanded three in total.
My friend B announced that she was pregnant which came as a shock because dream me assumed she was a virgin. She went to the doctor and told him that she didn't know how she got pregnant but had revealed that she'd been having sex with her housemate. I remember thinking that it was nice that she was still able to remain friends with her housemate even though they were sleeping with one another.
Throughout the dream, I was my high school self. The same level of unhappiness permeated everything. My surroundings felt slightly science-fictive. Nearly all the walls were slate blue. The colour was sad but somehow comforting.
I dreamt we were back in London, living there as a family, all grown-up. It was Christmastime and there was a knock at the door at 10.30pm. None of us were expecting any guests, relatives or visitors and it was common knowledge that if you weren't expecting anyone, things weren't going to end well if the door was answered. My parents argued with me and gave no care for my welfare and like a dutiful daughter, I opened the door and was shot to the head with a gun.
I'd stepped out of my body at this point and saw the blood and brains spew forth from my skull. It was a woman who'd shot me, similar to me in appearance.
Neither of my family cared and Christmas celebrations continued on as usual. Oddly enough, the dream didn't seem disturbing. It seemed perfectly fitting, as I watched over my family, that they shouldn't care though they seemed still to have some disagreement on whether or not they should let people in after a certain time.
My dad moved all my belongings out of my bedroom because I was no longer needed. Him and Mum had decided that now that they had their grandson, I was no longer necessary. My things were put out in the sunroom and Dad's excuse for my not being needed anymore was that I didn't use my laptop case. I tried to explain that I did use it when he wasn't looking or couldn't see.
My ex was supposed to join me in bed to hug me but she never turned up and I felt lost. Eventually, I found that she'd left notes to explain her absence but the notes had been hidden from me.
I had a lot of dreams, but only one really stands out because my sleep was broken.
Someone had torn pages out of a book or magazine. They were going to use them as scrap paper and when a sheet was handed to me, I was horrified because it was a bilingual Tagalog poetry book. I ran around, desperately trying to find the book it came from but no one cared. No one cared that these pages belonged in a kind of book that I imagine in real life would be hard to find.
I ran aimlessly, searching for similar such books but never found any.
I tend to have the quirkiest dreams when I've had zolpidem (a sleeping pill) and broken sleep. This morning's dreams were crazy.
In some alternate version of the street in which my parents live. I see the neighbour directly across us pinch another neighbour's industrial lawnmower to mow his nature strip. I mimic shooting him to signal to him that I've caught him in the act then hop into my car and reverse out of my parents' driveway.
Somehow this progresses to me seeing Rufus Sewell trolling people on a forum, not any forum I'm familiar with. The idea of the man playing Tom Builder in The Pillars of the Earth novel adaptation is hilarious. He's replied to me and said something nice and I'm pleased he's taken the time to reply to me even though I had no idea I was even a member of the forum.
After that I'm a tall skinny version of myself walking down a cobblestone in an alleyway. I try to start a fist fight with a boy who then becomes Prince, back when he was actually Prince and not that symbol. We both become insect-human beings and after that begin to copulate but by the time copulation has begun, I've become someone else and can see these weird insect-human things trying to have sex and it looks really awkward.
There was a fourth bit but I've since forgotten it but it was uncharacteristically weird.
I was in America for some reason and a friend of my boyfriend's wanted to go hiking but we weren't dressed for it so we ended up driving to a city that was like a fancy Geelong. I saw an American online friend there and she had agreed to chaperone me around but she went to the toilet which were cloth cubicles like you get in some of the fancy clothing stores and never came back for me. I went to the bit of what apparently was a nightclub but had an outdoor lawn bit and started looking through a magazine so vivid that when you read it, its stories unplayed themselves out in front of you like your head momentarily became a projector.
I read the magazine then all of a sudden, found myself in a room full of miniature (musical) organs and on my one, a trumpet lay. An annoying American kept trying to show off what he knew and the group of us all politely humoured him. There was this amazing food offered - some thin sliced beef, very rare with the most amazing seaweed I'd ever had. Some of us ate as the American lectured. On and off throughout, I kept playing, producing beautiful music.
* * *
One of my oldest schoolmates was on the phone to me. He, like my brother, wanted to ignore how unwell I'd been, except that he'd asked how I'd been and I said. He wasn't answering, it felt like he'd put the phone down and thought I wasn't paying attention to his presence on the other side of the phone. He admitted he'd gone to urinate while I was talking. I was heartbroken because he'd done this in real life to another high school friend of ours who was a chronic liar and I thought that perhaps he felt I was doing the same.
* * *
I'd woken up from a dream (yes, this is part of the dream) and was alone in my boyfriend's new house. I thought I heard his car drive off and wasn't sure why he'd left me when I still didn't feel safe in a new house. Somehow, I ended up outside, locked out but it was so dark that I accidentally went to someone else's front door alcove and knocked, asking to be let in. No one answered and I realised that it wasn't the right house. I knew exactly where the house I needed to be at was and yet I trailed the street and couldn't find it. All the houses started to look like I'd woken up and been kicked out onto a London street, not an Melburnian one.
Wed 6/7/2011
Another school situation - this time some sort of assembly thing. I have to recite a published poem. My turn keeps getting delayed, I keep getting more and more nervous. People go up and recite their works beautifully. I am glad that at least mine is short and I know it off by heart. A well-known poet is there but he looks completely different to how he actually looks in real life.
Tue 5/7/2011
I was in Byron Bay - I had made it and I was alone and it felt wonderful. I had escaped my miserable real life and was there. I walked into a clothing shop which had amazing deals on beautiful garments. I picked out two but the sales assistant wouldn't sell me them because she identified me as a paedophile. I was horrified. Apparently, I had a photo in my purse - the faces of the children had been blurred out to protect their identity and no matter how hard I explained this, she just wouldn't believe me. It was a horrifying concept - the photo had been given to me by a good friend and was of her child. I left in anger and couldn't care less about the stupid clothing which had initially appealed to me.
Sun 3/7/2011
An ex-boyfriend and I were hanging out and he insisted that we cover our shoes with thick sheets of paper and then dip our feet in neon green paint-filled troughs. I wasn't sure as to the purpose, but I complied. We were just doing it as a friendly but serious art project type thing.
At a disused mental asylum except it was being used. It was leaky from rain and there were lots of patients there but there seemed like hardly anyone there because the place was massive. A scuba diver turned up to take the patients on a trip. The reasoning was that them going on a dive would clear out their thyroid glands and that Seroquel was making them ill. I don't know why I was there but being scared of deep water, there was no way I was going on the expedition despite being eager to get out and about and not being a patient.
I went to a cafe next door which became intensely crowded and transformed itself into an ex's bedroom. I slept in his bed even though he or anyone wasn't there and his parents felt like they were in the house, except I couldn't be sure. The room looked like a warmer, sunnier, friendlier version of his room in real life. We were talking on the phone and he told me that he kept on having to pick up a girlfriend from the train station because she had just bad health but he was caring about it. I wanted to tell him I'd broken up with my girlfriend but then decided not to mention unhappy things and just enjoy talking to an ex on civil terms.
Still the room was sunny. He had three layers of quilts and blankets and only one I couldn't fix properly. I was getting ready to leave the room with a light heart and free of guilt even though I felt very safe in the room.
