The Olympics start tonight, if you’re into that. I personally am not. For my part, I’ll count them a success if none of the athletes die and the Games themselves don’t lead to a global pandemic. My years as an educator have predisposed me to high standards, you see.
I’ve been having weird dreams lately, guys. I generally don’t remember my dreams at all– more than one in a month that I remember past my morning shower is unusual. So the fact that I can still remember dreams from three of the past five days and am pretty certain I can reconstruct the other two given some time is Goddamned weird, and possibly a sign that I’ve been a bit too sleep-deprived lately. And, again, in addition to the fact that I’ve remembered them, they’ve been weird dreams, mostly dreams about people I have little contact with outside of occasional Facebook likes and haven’t seen in years. One of them was about trying to get a woman to take me back after a mutual breakup; in the real world we not only never dated but I was never even into her like that. She’s married with a couple of kids now and we haven’t spoken face-to-face in damn near a decade and a half. Another was about going to New Orleans with three of my oldest friends– or, to be a bit more precise, two of my oldest friends and one of their husbands– only to realize partway through that the husband was with the wrong woman and that everyone had been really uncomfortable the entire time and I just hadn’t noticed.
Also, I swear to you that I’ve had dreams set in this weird proto-New-Orleans before. I’ve never been to Louisiana, much less New Orleans specifically, so it’s really odd that my brain has this chunk of NO mapped out well enough to revisit it in more than one dream.
Oh, and I woke up seriously mad at the husband, and had to fight off the urge to text one of them to tell them about it.
Three hours until my eye doctor appointment. I have high hopes that fiction might actually be accomplished. Or at least lunch. Cleaning. Something. I also got Searching for Malumba available at Smashwords. It is, naturally, griping at me about Various Issues, so it’ll pop up at the other non-Amazon services as soon as I get around to fixing whatever it’s mad about. But it’s up at Smashwords!
More later, if anything interesting strikes me.
3 thoughts on “Feel free to psychoanalyze me”
If I were the psychoanalyzing type, I would wonder about how you were feeling about transitioning from your old job (teacher?) to your new job (salesman?). Both dreams deal with people you’ve known in your past, and doing something new. Does that pull anything to the front of your mind? Maybe something that’s been bothering you that you’ve been, deliberately or unconsciously, not thinking about? I mean, I’m not you, and your life is much more complicated than I’ll ever know about, but that’s the first thing that struck me.
I find the whole concept of analyzing someone else’s dreams — especially the dreams of someone whom one doesn’t know well — quite strange. I don’t know you well enough to know your metaphors/imagery. i don’t know if you’ve recently seen or heard something that could have triggered thoughts of New Orleans later without you quite noticing it at the time. The idea that EVERYONE has the same kinds of symbolism in their dreams, and that dream about, say, driving a car has the same meaning for every person is ridiculous. Aside from (based on your description of how the dreams made you feel) them both sounding like anxiety dreams of the ‘Wait — this isn’t the life I thought I’d signed up for!’ sort, I have no idea…
Hope you get some fiction done, or at least have a good lunch. Maybe even both. I’ve heard that remembering to eat food helps make writing happen. Then again, when writing is happening, sometimes it’s hard to remember lunch.
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