Dreamblogging

Why, hello there! I took a little bit of a hiatus. And that post about the cutting is still being written in my head. But I went home to stay with my parents for a couple of days and, frankly, my mother is a big part of the reason I started cutting myself at 12 years old. So. No post was going to be written at home.

Also, she decided to throw some FULL-TILT CRAZY at me, which, was awesome! I lie, it was terrible.

But I had some EXCELLENT dreams while home. I am one of the few people I know (no, wait, the only person I know? Maybe) who almost always remembers her dreams. It is a rare morning when I don't. Most of them, honestly, are not worth remembering - they are usually anxiety dreams, about catching planes in 5 minutes and not having started packing and not even knowing where I am going. I have these 90% of the time. They just mean I wake up with my neck, where all my stress goes, even tighter and more painful than it was when I went to sleep, which frankly god, if you are listening, seems kinda not fair.

But I had these stunning dreams while I was staying with my parents. They all centered around this apartment I had taken in some indeterminate future. It was in a very, very tall building, so tall (and I like heights) that it made me nervous to be up so high. It was right by the sea, and I could see the ocean and the marshes from almost all my windows. And there was an airfield right nearby, along the ocean, too. Also, the building was built by the French? I don't know where I was, but the building was French (details in dreams are always so WTF-y) and I kept telling myself (in the dream) the French had built the Eiffel Tower, so my apartment building, despite its nerve-wracking height, would not collapse into the sea. Still: it was lovely, and open, and I knew I didn't want to leave. I just had to calm my fears.

I kept half-waking and then rolling over and drifting back to sleep, and having another dream with a storyline that would involve the apartment, and a couple of them were super literal about people violating my boundaries (i.e. barging into my apartment. Could not be more literal, I know) and then trying to ask for forgiveness over and over; but there was one that just stood out, and was clear as day, and is totally mystifying me still.

I was at this event, some social gathering, and all these lovers, intimate friends, past partners were there, and I kept bumping into all of them, and they would take my hand, and say we must talk and catch up and reconnect, let's go somewhere now, leave here together, let me go get my coat, and I wouldn't wait for them, because I didn't want to go. I'd just wander off, and then bump into someone else. Everyone felt transitory, as if they were passing through, like they were these terribly ineffective haunts, and having failed to move me, they would then just dissolve behind me. And while they were speaking to me passionately, and intensely, and these were some of the great loves of my life, none of them felt present and emotionally real.

Until I ran into this tall man. He was very handsome, and usually I am shy around beautiful people, they intimidate me (I do not want to talk about my body/self-image issues here, that's for LATER), but he did not at all. He made me feel lovely, and brave. He had dark hair and light brown-hazel-y eyes, and he came to speak to me, and I realized, in my dream: this man feels like Home. I asked him to come back to my apartment with me, and he did, and it was easy, the whole way, being with him. And then we got back to my apartment by the sea and lay together on the couch, I draped loosely over him (the two cats were about, and Amouch came to cuddle with him at some point), speaking to each other, sometimes, or gazing into each other's eyes. It was so simple, and natural, and I though, this boy? He is Home.

But what I remember still, as his face is mostly blurry in memory: he had a tattoo. It was on his neck or upper back, I can't quite remember which. It was two longish words, which for a second I thought were Latin, but he later explained weren't, they were nonsense words from a book. There was a symbol between them, something that I knew was about theatre. I can picture the symbol in my head, though it doesn't quite look like anything else, as I can picture the rounded, circus-type lettering of the words. The two words were the little threatre "company" he had started as a young child, he explained. His mother had died, and to cope with her loss, he had started writing and producing plays, and got his brothers to play parts. It was his way of coping with his mother's death, but also memorializing her, as the plays were always for her. And now it was tattooed on his body.

After he told me this, I thought, in my dream: I am going to fall in love with this boy. He is what has been coming for a long time. And then I kissed him. And then I woke up.

I have never believed that dreams tell the future or can be mined for Freudian analysis. I usually think that they are just our brains doing whatever they need to rest or straighten out or process or whatever. They're, like, secretarial work, in a way. But this dream . . . I can conjure so much of the detail. But mostly, when I think of it, I can feel it - the way he felt, the way I felt with him, the way I knew I would fall in love with him, and he was Home.

So. I am choosing to believe that this dream means something is coming. I do not know what it is, but I know it is. And, having decided that, it's pretty thrilling.

But also, if this dude is real, and you know this dude, let him know: I will find him. I am on my way.