dclarion: (Default)
After a couple slices of bread with jelly, I did lay back down, and had about an hour's nap.  I even had another dream.  I was back in school, in the present day.  I loved school that second time around; it just pains me that I ended up in the booby hatch instead of the PhD program I had originally wanted.  In my dream, I met a young lady, a Peppermint Patty type.  I was quite enamored of her, and she kind of liked me as well.  It was kind of cute that she was afraid that I wouldn't like dancing, meaning ballroom dancing.  Imagine her surprise when I replied that I dearly loved ballroom dancing.  I do, by the way, in my waking hours; it's been too many years since I've been able to engage in the activity.  Her jaw dropped when I told her that I was 54 years of age; I guess that it wasn't obvious, but as this was another first-person dream, I couldn't see my own face to know.  "What the hell," she commented, "maybe this can work, anyway."  The damned thing is that I was Edward again!

Back in the waking world, I poured myself the first cup of what will be today's gallon of coffee, and did some thinking about that dream.  I thought about that representation of myself.  In my mind, a sentence flashed into existence: "It's not that I don't like him, I just don't want to be him."

As imperfect as that sentence may be, I'd never thought about it that way before.

dclarion: (Default)
I'm awake again.  I don't seem to be sleeping through the night, and it's a little annoying; stretches of two or three hours are about all that I can manage.  It's not the Apollo 11 air-to-ground playing through the night; I usually can sleep through a cannonade.  Tonight, my sleep was light enough that the audio worked its way  into my dream, as a background that I was playing from a 10½" tape deck (I had one of those, a Pioneer RT-1011L; I had purchased it in 1979).  I remember someone telling me that he had had a recording which had since gone bad, and my telling him that I had made the recording in 1969, and that was one advantage of being 54 years old (another bit of actual history; for the mission of Apollo 11, I had used electrical tape to fasten a microphone to the speaker grille of a portable television to record the CBS coverage to a portable tape recorder, and had managed to keep the tapes until they finally went missing in 1996).  Melody showed up this time, at one point telling me to do something with two optical discs while pointing to four reels of magnetic tape and becoming a bit irate when I was confused; it turned out that she had meant the tapes all the time, and was not happy when I pointed out that this was another occurrence of an all-to-familiar communication problem (More actual history; most recently, this past Sunday evening).

But that was not the recurring part.

The recurring element of my dream involves my trying to restore a three-story house while I and people besides myself were living in it.  As usual, the presence of the other people was unnecessary; their presence was actually unwelcome because they were interfering with the work that had to be done.  Some elements vary slightly around this central theme; this time, the major problem was someone insisting upon living in the attic while the floor was cut away from the stairway.  I was trying to lay replacement flooring while working from a makeshift ladder while the "upstairs tenant" was making my life a Hell.  Negotiating the arrangement was placing me at considerable risk; twice, I even fell from the ladder.  Strangely, though, while angrily trying to secure a joist, I noticed that the missing floor on the other side of the attic offered an opportunity for a balcony, and I thought about how I would place the rail.  And guess what else:  While I was noticing the possibility of a balcony, the joists were running in a direction that would have made a balcony structurally possible.  I guess that, even in my dreams, I pay attention to detail.  I was also noticing that I didn't mind the fact that some of the second-floor walls were removed; I kind of liked the openness.  As usual, this was a dream in first-person, and what is more than a little upsetting to me is that the protagonist was Edward; Diana has otherwise all but replaced Edward in my dreams.

I remember telling [personal profile] jenmccarroll  to pay attention to her dreams and their symbolism.  Well, Jen, I'm following my own advice, and it's taxing my brain.  Something about my life is unfinished, I know that, but why is it represented by an upper floor, and why, as much as the upper floor was not a foundation element, was its completion so vital, to the point that its incomplete state was deleterious to health and safety?  How is it that I was noticing favorable architectural possibilities while I was damned near getting myself killed by virtue of this unfinished floor?  Why was the "upstairs tenant" insisting that the unfinished floor was fine the way it was, while at the same time complaining that he couldn't get around because it was unfinished?  Who are these interfering people and why are they insisting upon interfering?  And WHY WAS I SEEING MYSELF AS EDWARD?

If once is a chance occurrence and twice is a trend, what is a number so high that I cannot remember it?

May 2013

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