Friday, November 18, 2011

An Impulsive Mistake

I am looking out the window of some academic building on some campus with someone, and I see my daughters walking a bunch of dogs.  I tell the person I am with that those girls are my daughters and that the dogs, or some of them, at one time were mine.  I name the dogs and describe them, so she will know which is which.  Sassy and Charlie are there, but all the other dogs are different, brown and blacks and larger than Sassy and Charlie.  Sara and Erin go around the corner and I tell my companion that the girls are taking a class in that building across the street and it is an excellent class with a fantastic teacher.  We go over there, up the stairs and into the “lounge” of the classroom, which is a large living-room-like room, a little darkish, with couches and easy chairs and displays of student work.  I proudly show my companion my daughters’ projects and then the projects of some of the other students.  There are a number of students in the room who I seem to be mildly acquainted with.  I discover a project I hadn’t seen before that was getting lots of attention.  It had a sign on it saying that the two boys who worked on it have submitted it to the president of the United States.  The boys were both in the room and I ask them about it, and they say the famous actress Sherry Fairchild is investing everything in it in the spring.  I am amazed and proud and glad for them.

I am holding a girl on my lap—a college-age girl in a white dress, slender and pretty, the way I would hold a child.  We are sitting in the room, and then we are sitting in a swimming area on a rock.  I see several frogs swimming by and I think to impress the girl by catching one and I dart my hand down and snag one.  I am a bit surprised it was that easy.  The girl, though, is a little bit upset. I tell the girl that the frog is worried because it thinks I am going to eat it.  The girl gets off my lap and moves away and I am moving through the water with the frog in my hand about to let it go, when I put my hand on the top of a rock so tall jutting out of the water that I do not notice a HUGE frog sitting on top of the rock.  The frog in my hand I had thought was a nice large green frog, but this one is huge.  Without thinking what I am doing, I toss my frog into the large frogs open mouth.  I see the reason that it is open is that the big frog has another frog in its mouth.  I want my frog to jump back out and consider scooping it out.  I am sorry I have thrown it in.  Just as I go to reach for it to rescue it, feeling terrible and guilty, the big frog partially swallows and my frog partly disappears, without a struggle, down the big frogs gullet.  It is still visible, just its head and one of its legs.  I feel awful, bad.

I decide, however, not to try to dig the smaller frog from the throat of the big one and am standing on the side of the cement wall of the pond/pool area considering diving in, but I think the water might be too shallow.  And full of underwater rocks, so I turn to the side and consider diving into the deep end.  But I am wearing jeans.  I wonder if I want to take them off and swim in my underwear, swim in my clothes, or not swim.  Or skinny dip.  All the students from the class, those that were in the room when I was there, are around in and out of the pool.

The teacher of the students asks me if they could take a field trip out to my farm.  I am telling her that the place is sort of run down and would not be a good place for a field trip.  I start describing the barn as having a green fiberglass roof held together with duct tape and I look up and notice that the roof of the school is made of green fiberglass and has duct tape patches.  But their green fiberglass is almost transparent and the patches are only over the nail holes.  I am wondering if I even have any chickens left.  I tell her the ducks and goats are gone.  I am visualizing, with great sadness, deep decrepitude.  Friday, November 18, 2011

What does this remind you of?

The most powerful part of the dream is the business of catching the frog and feeding it to another frog.  This reminds me of all the impulsive stupid things I have done that I feel guilty about, most recently, the incident of hitting Keith and other angry outbursts.  One in the past was tattling on Linda.  There are many things I feel sad and guilty about. Some were things I did and shouldn’t have and some things I didn’t do but should have.  These things upset and haunt me.  I wish time could be rewound to the point before the incident and I could be allowed to make a better choice.  Thinking about killing that frog that was swimming innocently through the water makes me feel really BAD and SAD.  I want to undo that and undo hitting Keith and tattling on Linda etc.  And the bad things that happened to Sassy, Charlie, Vickie, Buffy, Shendy etc.  And my current ambivalent feeling about pets.

I started the dream by telling a companion about what I was seeing, but at some point, the companion faded away and I was “narrating the dream as if writing a story.”  This reminds me of my work on my current novel, all the other novels I’ve written, and my lack of getting any of them published.  This makes me sad, angry, guilty, frustrated. (*)

The girl on my lap reminds me of when I used to hold Erin on my lap, even when she was a big girl.  It reminds me of holding all the kids, including Graham, and the grandkids.  And not holding Frankie, because I’m too far away for him to know me.  In the dream, my feelings for the girl were loving and innocent. Motherly, rather than sexual.  (*)

It also reminds me of being a kid and being held by my mother, father, grandmother, aunt etc.  (And being held by Keith and the need for physical warmth.)

The teacher wanting to bring the class to the farm reminds me of negative things associated with the end state of the “farm” and of Raven Girl and Santana and Raven Girl’s foal, and of the worsening state of the house we live in and my state of inability to function physically etc.  (More things to feel guilty and bad about  L)

In the dream, the president of the United States seems to still be the kind of figure that a child thinks the president is, as opposed to the bumbling fools I think of the presents now.  In the dream, the president is impressive and wonderful.

Looking out the window at my daughters reminds me of how far away they are and how little I know of their current daily lives and how I wish I lived closer.

The actress Sherry Fairchild investing in the boys reminds me of how I wish some editor or agent would discover ME and love MY WORK.

The students I seem to mildly be acquainted with through my daughters remind me of the friends of my daughters I know (somewhat) and hooked up with on Facebook or in other ways.

The dream reminds me of

Ø  My love of and lifetime relationships with animals, good and bad.

Ø  My desire to be a fantastic teacher, writer, photographer, artist, singer.  And my failures.  AND some successes!

Ø  The academic community, my love for it, dislike of it.  My love of learning, my fear about Alzheimer’s/dementia.

Ø  My academic successes and current failure to accomplish what I want.  Last year’s success at NaNoWriMo and this year’s apparent failure (I am running way behind!)

Ø  How I used to love to swim but rarely do any more.

Ø  The bad things on the farm—I guess I said that, must be time to quit.