Sexual Propositions and a Giant Leech

Sexual Propositions and a Giant Leech

I am in a bar at a resort with a lot of other people and am sitting at a table with friends, wrapped in a towel.  Eric Potter comes up and, standing behind me, slips his hands down under the towel to cup my breasts.  He makes lewd suggestive sexy remarks about having sex with me and I am feeling aroused by his touch.[1]

Someone suggests skinny-dipping.  I am standing on a dock (wooden walkway) with another woman looking into the dark pond/lake.  The water is cold and somehow threatening and people standing around naked are hesitant to go in.  I dive right in and immediately feel as if I have made a mistake.  But I’m not sure what the mistake is, and I swim out to the middle of the lake.

Suddenly, a giant leech the size of a boa constrictor attacks me.  It is black, with a head like a planarian and a big mouth which is struggling to attach itself to me, I fight with the thing, which is very very strong, and I am tiring and the mouth, which I am trying to hold away, is getting closer and closer.

A boat comes up (a houseboat-like boat) and a woman with a syringe and needle tries to subdue the giant leech.  I am worried she will kill it, and even though I do not want to be bitten by it, I don’t want her to kill it.  She struggles and struggles and finally, the thing goes limp.  Friday, February 17, 2012

What does this remind you of?

YIKES!

Sex!  Unpleasant and unwanted sex, rape.

Okay, starting at the beginning, Eric Potter was my second lover and the one who broke my maidenhead.  (OUCH!)  Somehow Peter Black did not manage to do that.  We had to stuff ice cubes up my crotch to stop the bleeding.  (Eric is now an old, fat man in a nursing home who says “he can’t get it up any more.”) (And I am an old, fat woman!) L

The dark, threatening waters remind me of: sex, the unconscious, nightmares, therapy sessions.

I rarely swim any more, because Keith doesn’t like to.  I used to love to swim, and when I was younger, would dive right in.  Now, on the rare occasions when I swim, I go in more gingerly.

The giant leach is shaped like a huge black penis—like a big horse’s penis.  The idea of being attacked by a “giant penis” reminds me of rape and unwanted sex.

I used to see a lot of horses penises while doing my horse research, and always wondered why women might want to have sex with them—didn’t make sense to me.  Too big!  Some Russian Czarina, Catherine the Great, was supposedly killed trying to have sex with a horse.  What a horrible, crazy idea.  L (The claim that her death was caused by a sexual incident involving a horse is a myth and apparently has no basis.)[2]

It also reminds me of the time when a real boa constrictor tried to kill me and Rachel, my boss, “rescued” me, after Bob ran out of the building.

There was a period of time in my life when I lived in a commune and went skinny-dipping with my fellow commune members and other local hippies.  I was never entirely comfortable with it, although I do like skinny-dipping in safe places with a single companion or alone.

The leech, going limp at the end, is also phallic.  When the giant leech goes limp, the threat is over.

I no longer go to bars often, except occasionally to hear music (friends).  I used to go fairly often with friends when I was younger and one time, sitting in a bar yukking it up with friends, I suddenly had an “epiphany” (or, in this case, moment of clarity) that I wasn’t really having fun, and I stopped going.

In what ways do I feel that I am making a mistake and am going ahead anyway?

Ø  Over committing myself

Ø  Taking this poetry class[3]

Ø  Being too busy to work on and complete already started projects.

Ø  The Rolandale House

Ø  Marriage (sometimes)(Though less and less often, but still sometimes.)

Ø  Attempting to mother or not mother Graham.[4] Finding a balance.

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[1] I may be having more sex dreams because I am getting less actual sex lately.

[2] Although grossly overweight, Catherine loved men - a great many of them, in fact - over the course of her 34-year reign. And then, it was rumored, she died during a botched attempt to make love (if it can be called such a thing) to a horse. The rumor may have been spread by Catherine's Polish enemies, who resented her for annexing much of Poland. (On the list of European royalty's leisure activities, "overrunning Poland" has historically been a close second to "Sex.") At any rate, Catherine never had sex with a horse, and one wonders why anyone felt compelled to make up such a story, since her actual death was plenty humiliating. While straining on the toilet, she had a stroke.  (Like Keith’s first wife, Florence.)(Hope I don’t go that way.) http://www.neatorama.com/2008/10/16/a-pain-in-the-royal-horse-5-sex-rumors-about-royalty/ Also confirmed in Wikipedia.

[3] I am vacillating between feeling misunderstood and unappreciated and feeling worthless and incompetent in this current poetry class.  L  It makes me want to give up poetry.  Or at least poetry classes and competitions.

[4] I had a really nice “bonding” time with Graham helping him make a tie-dye T-shirt for his trip to Italy for the Aquarius song. We went to the store together, picked out a kit, came home and I helped him fold and tie it and explained how to dye it, and he did and it came out nice.  Made me remember, miss and wish for the time when he liked to sit on my lap and I felt closer to him.  L

Save my husband!

Save my husband!

We are at this strange pool place that seems to be some kind of installment rather than a swimming place, but people are swimming in one of the pools.  There are a series of pools with narrow cement walkways between them.  Somehow, Keith falls into to one of the pools and disappears.  I run to where the people are and scream and scream for help.  They are so slow coming I say over and over and over, please hurry, every second counts.  They don’t hurry, but eventually the come and walk slowly through the pool.  One small obnoxious man finds Keith and gives him CPR and Keith revives.  I am so desperately relived and grateful—I keep thinking the man, even though I don’t like him and want to give him a reward but he goes off with the other people back to the other pool.  Keith is kind of limp and exhausted and his eyes are wrong—he looks as if he is blind or as if his cornea has separated from his eyes or as if there are shining discs inserted.  Or weird contact lenses.  I am gathering our things and Keith disappears.  I don’t know if he walked off or fell back into the pool.  I look in several pools—one of them is opaque and milky.  I wake up in a panic.  Monday, February 13, 2012

+++++++++What does this remind you of?

My good friend Pam’s husband just died this week (last week, 5 days ago) and of course, she is bereaved and terribly lonely and upset.  My good friend Hal recently lost his wife.  Herb was Keith’s age, and Ann even younger.  They both had cancer.  Reminders of mortality.  Anyone could die at any time, but the older you get, the more likely you are to die.  I want to KEEP Keith and myself alive, for as long as reasonably possible.  I am afraid both of suffering and of death itself.  And I have a lot to do. (A lot I want to accomplish!)

Bruce’s cousin David Farnsworth’s daughter Ellen fell out of a boat into a lake and lay at the bottom of a lake for like half an hour and then was revived and was OK—that was 35 years ago or so and she is still alive and well and married and has children—the 40-degree water stopped the brain death.   Thus my shouting, “every second counts” over and over—I wanted to save him and to not have him be damaged.  I wanted him alive and well!

The pools installation was sort of like an old-fashions sewage treatment plant—but the water in most of the pools was clean.  (Perhaps it had once been a sewage treatment plant, but wasn’t full of sewage now.)

I was thinking about what you (Brian) said about how in my dreams, I am always the one who knows what to do and other seems to be stupid or slow.  I do not think that is always true, even in my dreams.  In real life, it is certainly NOT true.  However, there are many times in dreams and in life when other people do not see a need I see or believe in or are slow or stupid or otherwise impeding what seems necessary to me. I observe every day people who are smarter than I, know more than I, are more organized than I am, better writers, better artists, etc.  I do not, in waking life, consider myself the best at anything.  On the other hand, there seems to be a vast crowd of dolts and idiots surging around.  Watching other drivers can frighten one off the road, for example.  Reading things people forward (a bad habit) can make one question the intelligence and sanity of the sender.  (I think some people forward everything they get without a moment’s thought to its value.)  In this dream, when Keith disappeared, I did not know whether he left or had fallen in or what I did NOT know what to do.  (I often do not know what to do.)  In the first part, however, I knew we needed to walk across the pool hand-in-hand to find him, since we couldn’t see to the bottom of the pool.  (These were not regular swimming pools, and were old, and brown rather than blue and the water wasn’t entirely clear—more like pond water, but not sewage. Thus the foot-dragging for location.)

The human chain to locate possible drowning victims was a part of my past, a constant part of my childhood and my children’s childhood.  It always frightened me, especially as a child.  I was also frightened when my kids were little.

Interesting that I have to wonder if my sometimes (often) being in charge of things in dreams is a bad thing, and whether you (Brian) were pointing out a flaw in my personality.  Or is it a good thing?  Or is it just a thing?