December 30, 2018

in your dreams

My official position is that I am against taking naps, but sometimes naps happen, and when they do, I always wake up feeling guilty, worthless, down.  (Other people can take them and I wish them well.  I just can't.)  It doesn't take Freudian theory to work out that the force behind this is a nasty comment my sister made that intentionally woke me from a deep nap when I was barely a teenager.  The way the comment made me feel combined with being startled awake lodged like Excalibur in the stone.  I still can't shake it, almost three decades later.


I need to try harder not to take naps.  They can throw off my sleep schedule, which I'm supposed to be keeping rigorously regular.

I've also noticed that the most convoluted and fucked-up dreams I end up remembering happen while I'm napping.

I just woke from a nap that produced two dreams capable of making me question what passes these days for my sanity.

The first dream was mild sauce on the Weirdness Scale.  Kate Campbell was my therapist and we kept trying to have a session, except that she kept doing paperwork and getting up and going over to a desk a giving it her attention instead of me.  When she finally sat across from me, she discussed the amount of the check I needed to write, and then asked me what it is that I needed to say (there was something I desperately wanted to blurt out, but now I can't remember what it was, only that I was ashamed of it) ... at which point, my sister, unable to be present bodily to interrupt my nap, passed through the room and left the doors open so everyone could hear what I was about to say, so I couldn't say it.  Then Kate had to leave.  My sister continues to be a rusty, squeaky-handled cunt-bucket.

FreudIt is clear dat der underlying vish is to have more time to talk to dis Kate ven she is having concerts.  Der is little time in der intermission und after, she is packing up the wires und the instrument und the black sound-boxes.  You vish to be known by her, deeply.  Und der sister is objectively der cunt.  Das is ein "curve ball", as you say it.  You are calling me for das simple dream?

I said it was mild sauce, didn't I?  Let's hear your take on the second dream.  I was seventeen and was being raised in a sort of collectivist way in the skating rink I frequented as a kid by the kindly janitor, who was older now and had a grey beard and walked with a cane, and also all four of the Golden Girls, who stood over against the back wall like well-meaning mannequins until needed.  Most of the dream was spent trying to figure out where I was supposed to sleep, on the floor or the benches or on the rink itself.  The janitor ended up escorting me tenderly out of the door that had the "no re-entry" sign on it and told me I had grown up and was allowed to leave.  My RAV4 was waiting for me in the parking lot.

FreudVell, it is possible der is a vish to rebel, und clearly in das dream you vish to sleep with der janitor, your father, but he is censored by der cane und der beard, so -- vait, are you not der Sapphic?

Yes.  Yes, I am gay.  Good of you to remember.

FreudYes, yes, all right.  But you did kill das mothers by making them der mannequins.  Unless ....

No, I have absolutely no desire to sleep with Rue McClanahan.  Eww.  Negative, sir.

FreudClearly, however, der growing up und expulsion vas a manifestation of rejection by both of der parents, uncovering der vish to stay in der vomb und --

Dude, I couldn't wait to leave home.  I left high school a year early so I could fly the coop.

FreudLook at der time!  I am just remembering der pressing engagement across town.


*dusts off hands*

Right, that got rid of him.  Which is sad, because I didn't even get a chance to tell him about the dream I had during a nap when I was a freshman in college.  I dreamed I was Bat-Man and lived in the parking lot of my church and carried a cat around by its tail and was suddenly surrounded by a ring of Mountain Dew bottles and touched its leader, a three-liter bottle, on the cap, thereby making peace with the tribe.

Yeah, yeah, a desire to belong and to have power over my circumstances.  Whatever.  The point is, nap-dreams are far and away weirder than the ones remembered from just-before-you-wake-up-in-the-morning, and on top of being psychologically injured by my halfwit sister, nap dreams leave me mentally croggled for the rest of the day.

I'm told naps are supposed to be a good thing.  I wish to experience this.  I'll keep trying.

4 comments:

  1. apropos of absolutely nothing at all.....what's yer sister's name and social security number and address - flights are relatively cheap at this time of the year. I'd settle for name and address. *must ask doctor what's the best medication to keep me under for the duration of the flight*

    Sometimes a cigar is just a cigar - Freud (possibly)

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    1. ...and a woman is only a woman, but a good Cigar is a Smoke!
      Kipling (definitely)

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  2. Lille, all I know is that this is good fodder for keeping us entertained -- unfortunately, at your expense -- but at least it's not for naught! Except your sister can go sit in a corner with her nose to the wall for the rest of her life. Also, it's good to know that I'm not the only one who occasionally speaks to Freud; though I prefer speaking with Frankl. (He's just a kinder, gentler soul.) Mona

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