The Melting World

 

Apparently, it takes quite a few months for me to sit down a post something here. Our turtle speed Internet at home is the most likely target for this delay and the fact that with a new job, etc…blah blah blah, so many reasons. Well, get on with it then, no more excuses.

I have been having extremely populated dreams lately, like high broadway productions as far as cast and set designs go:

1) I was trapped at a summer camp for women in their forties this Monday evening-and the highlight was when a woman rushed to the bathroom with her toothbrush wrapped in plastic wrap to check if her pet slugs on it had survived their trip in her suitcase.

2) And just last night I dreamed a news-like quality documentary about pubescent street youth. It featured a rather unkempt and questionable blond thirty-something guy handing out religious tracts to the young boys with offers of ‘safety’. Then it featured a even more suspect forty-something belly bulging blond man strolling through a Salvation Army in nothing but a zebra-striped bikini heading toward the used book section (think of those horrible patterns on the baggy workout-muscle man pants of the eighties for his underwear garb–what are those awful pants called, again?–clearly, I wiped that word from my vocabulary due to severe fashion duress).

I am not sure what was unfolding in my subconscious  on this particular trajectory, since my husband woke me up right when a young boy, say age 9-10, in said thrift store, wandered  across my REM brain,  replete in purple g-string and matching puffy purple winter vest. He had juststuffed a wine glass up the back of his purple vest when I woke up, feeling worried that the glass would surely break and harm the young shoplifter…

Okay, why share these embarrassing bits of dream? Well, for one, they helped me wake up laughing for two days in a row–which is good. They showed that my brain is still capable of some crazy-ass shit, which for a writer, is also good news.

But what would a Freudian analyst make of all of this? Would such analysis suggest an unwell mind? Does it display a pathological fear of blond lurking pedophiles, tinged with a healthy (unhealthy) concern for young people being lured into the clutches of creepy people? Hmmmm….let’s just remain calm and positive about this here, Freud.

I’d rather conjecture that I am not alone in having an active dream imagination, and maybe I am a little less scared of being honest about that fact. I think all of these people populating my dreams are simply out to remind me to dream big, to dream wild, and to risk appearing crazy, for the sake of a good laugh in the morning….

Now, just don’t ask me about last week’s dream involving a man with a goat’s face, okay?….hmmmm….