On really romantic evenings of self, I go salsa dancing with my confusion
-Waking Life
I think my subconscious takes 'shrooms.
As previously mentioned, my nights are unusually eventful. I'm either talking in my sleep, having nightmares I can't wake up from, or dreaming dreams I can't differentiate from reality upon waking.
That said, my nocturnal wanderings have taken on a new twist. I've had a series of particularly vivid dreams that feature a friend of Grace's with whom I have absolutely no connection. We may or may not have had a class together at some point, but I don't think that's true and I'm 100% positive we've never actually been introduced. I've told Maggie about both of the dreams, and she seems to think I'm half cracked.
"Well. Maybe you're secretly in love with him."
"Unlikely. We've never actually met."
"You are the creepiest person I have ever met. You're dreaming about someone you've never met?"
"Well, yes. They're not anything to be ashamed of. He's just in them. Once he yelled at me. Once he slept in a hayloft. This could be awkward if we ever actually do meet. I'll probably introduce myself saying 'Hi! I've been dreaming about you for the past six months. Uhhhh. '"
"You really are going to die alone and be consumed by feral cats."
"At least I can die having fulfilled my dream of spinsterhood."
I'm less worried about the creepiness factor of the dreams and more interested in why this gentleman seems to have become a recurring character in my REM cycle when most of my dreams are about work or or can-can dancers (I can't explain it.) My subconscious obviously thinks there's some important link between this random guy and something happening in my life currently. I can't see the link between my (REM cycle) gentleman caller and my waking life.
For the time being, I guess I'll wait and see where we end up. And hope that if we ever do meet, I'll have the self-restraint to avoid telling him he's the man of my dreams.
Tuesday, March 25, 2008
Thursday, March 20, 2008
Saturday, March 8, 2008
Seven
I.
Recipe
Data Entry Personnel
1 idealistic recent grad
56 hours sleep
15-23 miles of open road
37 hours mind numbing work
.5 Un-fufilling romantic liaisons
3 hours of meetings
1 case Premium
Dash of infrequent conversations with other idealistic recent grads
Take idealistic recent grad. Add 37 hours mind numbing work in equal parts throughout 1 week period. Add 3 hours of meetings. Slow pour one bottle Premium into the mixture every second day. Mix. Distribute sleep. Less in the beginning of the week, gradually adding a half hour or so until the weekend. Place mixture on open road and encourage it to breathe three days a week until desired mileage is achieved. Stir in infrequent conversations with other recent grads throughout the week. On Friday, add three bottles Premium and romantic liaison to stew. Saturday morning, remove romantic liaison. (Note: May be removed Friday evening if the taste becomes too strong) On Sunday, place entire mixture in Church for 1.5 hours. Remove when blood pressure drops back to normal range. Repeat process every Monday.
II.
Infinite
http://imgs.xkcd.com/comics/dreams.png
It's Monday morning and a coworker walks in with a new Coach purse. It's hot pink, and doesn't have much to distinguish it as a Coach, just the pair of mirror image Cs on the clasp. I'd put its price at around $110.00. It's hideous; barely big enough to fit a small wallet and a compact, let alone a book, journal, nalgene, variety of pens, keys, cell phone, and assorted other paraphernalia I carry around in my bag on a daily basis. It's a totally impractical bag. More of a fake status symbol than anything, because Coach is the poor girl's designer bag.
I want this purse.
What? the rational side of my brain kicks in and demands to know what the irrational side is saying. When did I suddenly become able to identify purses based on their style? When did I start calling $110 purse a poor girl's designer bag? WHEN DID I START COVETING UGLY PURSES?
Astonished, and more than a little disgusted with myself, I slink back to my office and into the orderly world of data entry. While I blast Mason Jennings into my skull and disassociate myself from the data I'm entering, I try to process what has just happened to me. When did acquisitive become an adjective that I could use to describe myself? Sure, I've always had a bit of a an Achilles' heel when it comes to books, but that's something I made my peace with a long time ago. There's always Amazon and resale book stores and really, that's really a desire for something more than the book itself. The purse thing is wholly unexpected and totally unlike anything of which I could have imagined myself capable. I'm quickly soaking up a good deal of my environment, and I'm disturbed and saddened by the rapidity with which it's altering my desires. Where I used to want to make some kind of an impact on the people surrounding me, now I'm satisfied if no one yells at me during the course of the day. Self-assurance about my mission in the world has been replaced by doubt about my own gifts and talents and the desire to just get by. I actually feel like the Kel-Tron 6100 these days. Follow the recipe above and you'll have 600-1000 gifts entered in the course of a week, 23 miles run, and if it's a good week, three actually meaningful conversations--the kind that don't include stretch goals and memos to human resources.
There is more to life than this.
III.
Failure to Launch
My mother and I had a passive-aggressive, classically Prosen fight on Tuesday. I called looking for some support in a decision, and I was lectured by my father, which was unsurprising. The same lecture came from my younger brother and then my mother. I was nearly in tears when I hung up on Mother Prosen. We don't fight often, and when we do, it usually upsets me for days. What I wanted from her was a sympathetic listener. What I got was a mother who couldn't help but give suggestions and advice. We talked again on Thursday and I realized again how that human communication is fragile. A long day, poor cell connection, miss-chosen word can damage a relationship faster than a variety of other indiscretions. I'm troubled when I realize how much damage I may have inflicted with a casually cruel remark that I perceived as merely a joke or simply being tired after a long day at work.
I'm amazed that we ever manage to say anything to one another.
IV.
Delicate
Maggie's way into her gentleman caller. There have been a lot of casual jokes about setting me up with one of the gentleman caller's friends, but the other day she actually suggested it as a possibility before leaving for work. I had a mild panic attack as soon as she left. I've been single all my life, and have a level of independence I wouldn't change for the world. The thought of relinquishing even a moment's worth of that independence is enough to give me hives. I often wonder if I'm constitutionally incapable of having any kind of a lasting romantic commitment to another person. My smug coupled friends tell me that I haven't met the right person yet. I want to retort that the right person is going to have to have Sherlock Holmes's wit, Buddha's patience, Pablo Neruda's passion, and Paul Theroux's sense of adventure. A tall order, at best. An impossibility on most days.
Looks like I'm going to end up crushed to death under a stack of old newspapers and consumed by feral cats.
V.
Distance
The shower curtain is a map of the world. While I'm showering, I stare more or less directly at Asia. I often imagine Kevin and Grace are doing at that exact moment. I'm always confounded by the fact that when I'm rising for the day, they're drifting into sleep or vice versa.
Distance changes relationships in strange ways. Despite thousands of miles and an ocean, I feel closer to some folks than ever before. Others, with whom there is no ocean and only a few miles, I feel more distant. Old friendships are drifting away like Avalon (a million awesomness points if you can name that author) and I'm trying to make my peace with it.
It's Sunday morning in China. Kevin's probably at Chinese mass.
VI.
Pagan
Moonstones, in addition to a variety of of properties, are said to ward off bad dreams. I have a moonstone necklace I purchased in Duluth over Labor Day. Normally, I change it out when it doesn't match what I have selected for work. These days, I've taken to wearing it constantly, most often to bed. As work becomes more and more stressful, nightmares I thought I grew out of are becoming more frequent and are increasingly difficult to wake from or differentiate from reality upon waking. After staying with a friend in January and screaming so loudly in my sleep that I woke her, I've had to start cautioning people about my nocturnal habits and begging them to wake me if I start tossing and turning or crying. I've taken to my rosary as I fall asleep, and prayer settles most pre-sleep anxieties, but the nightmares are continuing to build to an alarming rate. Hence the moonstone.
I think my priest would say that it's a pagan influence and I should turn my mind only to prayer. It helps (probably psychosomatic, but who knows?) and my conscience is clear.
There are a lot of things I don't tell my priest.
VII.
Living in the Moment
Thoughts before drifting into a nap this afternoon:
This is the first time I've been warm in a long time.
I've don't appreciate my bed enough.
Mmmmmm. Saturday afternoon naps.
Recipe
Data Entry Personnel
1 idealistic recent grad
56 hours sleep
15-23 miles of open road
37 hours mind numbing work
.5 Un-fufilling romantic liaisons
3 hours of meetings
1 case Premium
Dash of infrequent conversations with other idealistic recent grads
Take idealistic recent grad. Add 37 hours mind numbing work in equal parts throughout 1 week period. Add 3 hours of meetings. Slow pour one bottle Premium into the mixture every second day. Mix. Distribute sleep. Less in the beginning of the week, gradually adding a half hour or so until the weekend. Place mixture on open road and encourage it to breathe three days a week until desired mileage is achieved. Stir in infrequent conversations with other recent grads throughout the week. On Friday, add three bottles Premium and romantic liaison to stew. Saturday morning, remove romantic liaison. (Note: May be removed Friday evening if the taste becomes too strong) On Sunday, place entire mixture in Church for 1.5 hours. Remove when blood pressure drops back to normal range. Repeat process every Monday.
II.
Infinite
http://imgs.xkcd.com/comics/dreams.png
It's Monday morning and a coworker walks in with a new Coach purse. It's hot pink, and doesn't have much to distinguish it as a Coach, just the pair of mirror image Cs on the clasp. I'd put its price at around $110.00. It's hideous; barely big enough to fit a small wallet and a compact, let alone a book, journal, nalgene, variety of pens, keys, cell phone, and assorted other paraphernalia I carry around in my bag on a daily basis. It's a totally impractical bag. More of a fake status symbol than anything, because Coach is the poor girl's designer bag.
I want this purse.
What? the rational side of my brain kicks in and demands to know what the irrational side is saying. When did I suddenly become able to identify purses based on their style? When did I start calling $110 purse a poor girl's designer bag? WHEN DID I START COVETING UGLY PURSES?
Astonished, and more than a little disgusted with myself, I slink back to my office and into the orderly world of data entry. While I blast Mason Jennings into my skull and disassociate myself from the data I'm entering, I try to process what has just happened to me. When did acquisitive become an adjective that I could use to describe myself? Sure, I've always had a bit of a an Achilles' heel when it comes to books, but that's something I made my peace with a long time ago. There's always Amazon and resale book stores and really, that's really a desire for something more than the book itself. The purse thing is wholly unexpected and totally unlike anything of which I could have imagined myself capable. I'm quickly soaking up a good deal of my environment, and I'm disturbed and saddened by the rapidity with which it's altering my desires. Where I used to want to make some kind of an impact on the people surrounding me, now I'm satisfied if no one yells at me during the course of the day. Self-assurance about my mission in the world has been replaced by doubt about my own gifts and talents and the desire to just get by. I actually feel like the Kel-Tron 6100 these days. Follow the recipe above and you'll have 600-1000 gifts entered in the course of a week, 23 miles run, and if it's a good week, three actually meaningful conversations--the kind that don't include stretch goals and memos to human resources.
There is more to life than this.
III.
Failure to Launch
My mother and I had a passive-aggressive, classically Prosen fight on Tuesday. I called looking for some support in a decision, and I was lectured by my father, which was unsurprising. The same lecture came from my younger brother and then my mother. I was nearly in tears when I hung up on Mother Prosen. We don't fight often, and when we do, it usually upsets me for days. What I wanted from her was a sympathetic listener. What I got was a mother who couldn't help but give suggestions and advice. We talked again on Thursday and I realized again how that human communication is fragile. A long day, poor cell connection, miss-chosen word can damage a relationship faster than a variety of other indiscretions. I'm troubled when I realize how much damage I may have inflicted with a casually cruel remark that I perceived as merely a joke or simply being tired after a long day at work.
I'm amazed that we ever manage to say anything to one another.
IV.
Delicate
Maggie's way into her gentleman caller. There have been a lot of casual jokes about setting me up with one of the gentleman caller's friends, but the other day she actually suggested it as a possibility before leaving for work. I had a mild panic attack as soon as she left. I've been single all my life, and have a level of independence I wouldn't change for the world. The thought of relinquishing even a moment's worth of that independence is enough to give me hives. I often wonder if I'm constitutionally incapable of having any kind of a lasting romantic commitment to another person. My smug coupled friends tell me that I haven't met the right person yet. I want to retort that the right person is going to have to have Sherlock Holmes's wit, Buddha's patience, Pablo Neruda's passion, and Paul Theroux's sense of adventure. A tall order, at best. An impossibility on most days.
Looks like I'm going to end up crushed to death under a stack of old newspapers and consumed by feral cats.
V.
Distance
The shower curtain is a map of the world. While I'm showering, I stare more or less directly at Asia. I often imagine Kevin and Grace are doing at that exact moment. I'm always confounded by the fact that when I'm rising for the day, they're drifting into sleep or vice versa.
Distance changes relationships in strange ways. Despite thousands of miles and an ocean, I feel closer to some folks than ever before. Others, with whom there is no ocean and only a few miles, I feel more distant. Old friendships are drifting away like Avalon (a million awesomness points if you can name that author) and I'm trying to make my peace with it.
It's Sunday morning in China. Kevin's probably at Chinese mass.
VI.
Pagan
Moonstones, in addition to a variety of of properties, are said to ward off bad dreams. I have a moonstone necklace I purchased in Duluth over Labor Day. Normally, I change it out when it doesn't match what I have selected for work. These days, I've taken to wearing it constantly, most often to bed. As work becomes more and more stressful, nightmares I thought I grew out of are becoming more frequent and are increasingly difficult to wake from or differentiate from reality upon waking. After staying with a friend in January and screaming so loudly in my sleep that I woke her, I've had to start cautioning people about my nocturnal habits and begging them to wake me if I start tossing and turning or crying. I've taken to my rosary as I fall asleep, and prayer settles most pre-sleep anxieties, but the nightmares are continuing to build to an alarming rate. Hence the moonstone.
I think my priest would say that it's a pagan influence and I should turn my mind only to prayer. It helps (probably psychosomatic, but who knows?) and my conscience is clear.
There are a lot of things I don't tell my priest.
VII.
Living in the Moment
Thoughts before drifting into a nap this afternoon:
This is the first time I've been warm in a long time.
I've don't appreciate my bed enough.
Mmmmmm. Saturday afternoon naps.
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