Tag: worry

Dream and Dream Again

First dream was one of those short, sharp ones my mind has been recently providing.

My wife and I have a home. Two stories. Not a house but part of a building. The outer walls are open to the other places. We’re making improvements. I’m pleased with the progress. As I go about, though, I discover that a neighbor has installed a central vac system. There’s an open outlet on a kitchen wall that sucks in air whenever they turn their system on. Well, that’s not acceptable. Who wants a hole making news and sucking air out of your place? I was in a good mood though. Heard the neighbors and went over and informed them of the error.

Off I went again. That was all upstairs. I went downstairs. Confusion reigned of the Abbott & Costello ‘Who’s On First’ variety. Used to be that there was a room opposite the stairs when you went down. Thought it was the kitchen. But I just left the kitchen. Are there two flights of stairs? Did we used to have two flights of stairs or is this new? Do we have two kitchens. I darted about looking for answers that didn’t come before the brief dream ended.

Second dream was long, involved, and anxiety driven. Mild understatement.

Wife and I were vacationing. Our last day. We somehow get separated. Where is she? I’m looking everywhere. Panic is rising like a thermometer on a hot day. I can’t find her and we need to check out and catch our flight. With time passing, worse fears that something has happened to her is growing.

I hurry past buses disgorging tourists. Among them is Jennifer Aniston as Rachel from “Friends”. She’s in a dress with messages attached to her with safety pins. Don’t know what that’s about. Deciding it’s not related to me, I go on.

Stopping to tie my shoe, I set my glasses down. A young boy with his father pulls his suitcase into me and then picks up my glasses. The father picks up his son and apologizes to me. I accept those apologies but where are my glasses? I need those, thanks. The child doesn’t have them. I discover them sticking out of the father’s shirt pocket. “My son must have put them there,” the father exclaims, proud, amused, appalled, apologetic. No problem. I take my glasses and hasten on. I must find my wife.

Anxiety growing, so does confusion and bewilderment. Where is our hotel? What room is it? What day is it? I can’t remember these things. I can’t remember our airline or flight numbers, or what time we need to be there. I can’t find the tickets or room key. Can’t recall how to work the electronic device in my hand. Seems to be a phone but it looks weird to me. Can’t recall what email account I used. And can’t find my wife.

Somehow, I acquire all our bags. I’m carrying something in each hand, on each shoulder, and on my back. Then, there’s my wife. She’s been shopping. I’m outraged. “I’ve been looking for you. We need to go.” She’s vague, disconnected. She’s been right here. She doesn’t understand the problem.

Never mind, we need to go. I find our rental car. We’re in it and driving with other traffic but there are no lane markers or directions. The road is slick and smooth. There’s no traction. The car is sliding all over. I discern that there are some markers but it’s all faded away. Never mind, we’ll follow other cars.

We reach a parking garage and stop. It’s inside a building lined with stores. I’m thinking, now they’re putting stores in parking garages, too. I remember my email account and suddenly understand how to use the phone to retrieve my email but, oh, no, we forgot to check out of the hotel.

Dream ends.

0

The Screwing Up Dream

Dreams of screwing up have beset my nights. For example, last night had me helping to build houses in the first dream, just simple wooden structures. I wasn’t in charge, but had joined the project after it was long underway. We were building on a high steppe rich with emerald green grass. The steppe ended on a cliff. Below in a a hazy blue distance were landmarks from a city. Beyond, an ocean breathed with rolling swells. Peaceful and comforting, I was happy to be in those surroundings, proud to be part of that project.

But, I suggested a change to where we put the houses. Then I acted on it. Only framing had been done (bizarrely, we seemed to be building without foundations, which is probably a clue for me), and after I moved the houses, they all began collapsing, like slow motion dominos falling over onto one another. I realized the last would fall over the cliff, so I rushed over to keep it up before that happened. So there I was, holding up part of a house frame as I teetered on a precipice. End dream.

The anxieties continued in the next dream. This had something to do about testing and storing blood. I was involved in helping assess how doctors did this. Yes, it’s all a little surreal. Each little package of blood had the doctor’s name, a date, and a patient’s number. Details of my role were vague but again, I decided I could change it into something better and proceeded to screw up. My wife then informed me as I was screwing up. I laughed her off, then realized as I walked off that she was right. By trying to improve it, I’d cut open the bag, not in a way that was acceptable, but some other way. All the blood was then gone. Alarmed by what I’d done, I kept trying to figure out a way to fix it, then started complaining about the system. It was the system that was at fault.

Trying to hide my error, I walked away from everyone and everything. No answer was coming to me, though. I then thought, this is a dream, just go back in time and stop myself from doing that. I laughed at that in the dream, and then reconsidered the bag. It had been blood; now it was full, but it was water. A doctor came by. Tall, lean, and dark, he gave me a contemptuous look. I thought he was going to say something and readied myself to reply, but he kept walking. Saved, I thought, walking quickly away.

At this point, I was alone in large, white room. Bright with light, rows of small desks that were as white as the wall, ceiling and floors precisely filled the room. Stopping at one, I worked on the bag. I was surprised to discover, yes, it was water, and the bag wasn’t cut. All the information was intact; there wasn’t a problem. “What have been worrying about,” I asked myself, looking around. Nothing was wrong. It had not been blood in the bag, but water. But, I thought, how did I mistake such completely different substances? One was clear, the other red. And why were doctors collecting bags of water from patients? I then realized that I was completely mistaken about the nature of the bags, that these were prepared to be given to the patients.

Dream end.

0

A Dream of Losing Things

Honestly, it disturbed. A resolution that satisfied me never emerged, and I’m uncomfortable with what I seem to be telling myself.

I began by losing my direction. Nominally happy, I was in one place and needed to go to another. A sprawling, multi-leveled place, it was well-populated by like travelers going from one place to another. The site seemed to be a mixed-use center for business, retail, and residences, but it was huge, about the size of my small town (six square miles), and at least five levels, perhaps more, and busy. While going outside to go from one area/level to another was possible, I mostly stayed within.

Leaving one place, I was hurrying along. But where was I going? I thought I knew but then thought, oh, shouldn’t I be going the other way? Retracing my steps didn’t work; apparently I took a wrong time. Now I didn’t know where I was to go. Others were there and talking to them gave me some clues. But, just as I was getting underway, I inexplicably took off one of my shoes. Chocolate brown suede, I dropped one shoe, gasping with disappointment as it went straight down a square cutout and down several levels. Before I could continue on, I’d need to descend to retrieve my shoe.

All kinds of problems entered my mind about this, like, how was I going to go down at least two levels and find the shoe? What if someone took it away before I reached it? I tried shouting down for others’ attention, thinking someone might be able to throw my shoe back up to me. No one responded. With a rueful grin, I accepted that I’d need to find my way down there.

Meanwhile, I removed my other shoe, thinking it’d be more comfortable to be walking in my socks rather than with one shoe. So, carrying my remaining brown suede shoe, I searched for the nearest steps, elevator, whatever, down. As I went, I lost my other shoe. Now panicked, other worries struck. Did I have my laptop? I think I left my laptop behind. Panic exploding, I started checking my cases. I had two over my shoulders, one gray and one black. Both were laptop cases; no laptop in either. I was carrying empty cases.

Rushing back to my origins, I hunted the room where I’d been, hoping that I’d left my laptop there. I was somehow turned around, though, and ended up lost in somewhere entirely new. Finding a map and talking to people, I learned that I was far from where I’d begun and had little idea how to get back to where I was. Retracing my steps would be ideal but I was clueless.

There it was: I’d lost my shoes, my laptop, and my way. I was in a place where I didn’t know with little idea of where to go.

Classic anxiety dream.

0

More Stormy Dreams

A series of powerful, uplifting dreams rolled through me last night.

Each one presented an unusual or alarming situation, and all had to do with weather phenomena. I often dream about weather. It’s like a standard element in my dreams. I suspect that’s true for many people.

In the first dream, I was striving to go up a sparsely vegetated steep mountainside. I felt it imperative that I reach the top. Strong winds were slamming me back. Not only did it seem like the winds were slowing me down, but seeing a precipice not far away, I thought, “I’m going to blow off this mountain.” Trying to hang onto something, anything, damn it, everything kept falling away. First a walking stick snapped in half. Shoved back past trees, I lunged for branches. I missed at first, then caught some, which promptly broke. Though I windmilled my arms to grab another branch, the wind took me from the trees.

Dropping to the ground — whether I fell or did this deliberately wasn’t clear — I saw a handle in the earth. Seizing it, I thought, why is there a handle here, and then gathered, its a tree root.

All this is in sharp relief because, bang, I awoke to the sound of the wind beating our bedroom blinds. Which, I thought, with a chortle, closing the window, was probably what prompted that dream. It’s also somewhat of a recurring dream, this against the wind on a mountainside motif.

Back asleep in seconds (so it felt), I found myself alone in a pouring rain. Was it day or night? So deep and thick was the rain, I couldn’t tell. The crashing precipitation veiled the world in heavy gray wool but also battered my face as I tried to see, forcing me to protect it with my hands. Yet, I also needed my hands to hold on.

With that realization, I saw that I was ankle deep in cold water. I needed to get somewhere higher, but looked for escape and couldn’t see any. I thought I saw something yellow but it came and went too fast for me to confirm it. Deciding there must’ve been something, I forced myself that way.

The water was over my knees and its current was increasing. Fighting the current was sapping my strength. I couldn’t see and needed my hands to hold onto something that I’d found — couldn’t tell what, and it was wet and slippery — but then let go to try to wipe rain off my face.

I fell backwards into the water. The current immediately victimized me. My head went under. I gulped water and struggled for air while fighting to stop myself and get the fuck up as the water carried me along like a leaf.

My back came up against something hard in the flood waters. I didn’t know or care what it was but used it to leverage myself up. Right then, I turned my head to get my face out of the rain, and saw a yellow light. Rectangular, it was a door or window, and very clear and yellow against the gloom. I headed for it…

And was again awakened. I don’t know what woke me — cat, wind, my mending arm in pain from being in a contorted position, or general discomfort. The dream haunted me while my mind chased connections between the first dream and the second. Similarities were easily seen. I meditated on them as a cat found me, purring in the dark as I drifted off again.

I wasn’t alone in this dream, but with friends and family. Clear and balmy, the weather didn’t seem to be a factor. I’m not sure if we were on a picnic or at a celebration or what the deal was. Everyone was chatting and laughing, and a gay mood generally prevailed. Food on platters and in bowls crowded tables.

Yet, I found myself growing wary, and while that happened, I distanced myself from the rest in search of what was disturbing me. I hunted clues for it like one of those games presented in a ‘spot the difference’ diversion in a newspaper or magazine. I felt suspicious, like I was leery of something sneaking up on me, which seemed unreasonable. The weather seemed clear and everyone seemed happy. Why shouldn’t I be relaxed and happy?

I awoke and guessed the time: yep, seven twenty-five. My cats have trained my bladder to awaken and pee then. They (the cats, not the bladder) clamored for food and attention but I wasn’t yielding to their demands. I didn’t feel rested; I wanted more sleep. Yet, oddly, reflecting on these three dreams as I lay in bed, I felt fortified, like I’d endured something and came out stronger. And my mood, when I finally acquiesced to the inevitable and got out of bed twenty minutes later, seemed upbeat.

All these dreams are part of my regular dreamscape, presenting some variation of theme. This time, I thought they were like a weather storm system, moving through and clearing my subconscious as fronts will do in a region. It feels like that, because the day seems hopeful with promise.

Or just maybe, that’s the coffee.

0

The Arm Repair Dream

I broke my arm on July 7 this year. I’m healing fine but am thwarted by the inconvenience. My dream subconscious response amused me.

I was with other people. My arm was broken and in a white cast. Sitting and chatting with others on a round plaza outside, I was dressed in black pants and shirt, and enjoying myself. I noticed a tall, bald black man working his way through the crowd. Like me, he was dressed in black pants and shirt.

As he closed, our eyes met. I said, “Hi, how’s it going?”

“Pretty good, you?”

“Good, thanks.”

“Good.” He was standing beside me now. “How’s your arm?”

I held it up. “Broken.”

“I know. I’m here to fix it.”

“It’s fixed. It’s healing.”

“How ’bout if I give you a new arm?”

I laughed. 

He grinned. “How ’bout if I give you one of mine?”

“That’s generous of you, but don’t you need it?”

“Don’t worry, I’ll grow another.”

“Well, no offense, but your arm is black. I’d have one black arm and one white one.”

“So? It’ll change.” He pulled his arm off and stuck it on my shoulder.

(I’ve thought a lot about this, and I don’t recall him removing my arm first.)

I was standing by then, holding my new arm out. It was white, just like the other one.

Giving me a side look, he said. “You’re always worrying about the wrong things.”

2

Thursday’s Theme Music

There I was, walking along, dealing with the cesspools of worry and anxiety collecting in my head, happy as a friggin’ lark, when in comes Ben Howard’s song, “The Fear” (2011).

Oh I’ve been worrying,
that my time is a little unclear,
I’ve been worrying,
that I’m losing the ones I hold dear,
I’ve been worrying,
that we all,
live our lives,
in the confines of fear.

h/t to Lyricsmania.com

Good walking tune for its beat, and it fits today’s partly cloudy, sometimes sunny, chilly, warm, blustery weather that taunts us with fall and worries us about winter.

Whatever.

0

Purflooftory

Purflooftory (floofinition) – the period of waiting for word on a missing fur friend or the outcome of their medical procedure.

In use: “The day was a waste. He’d descended into puflooftory, piddling around to smother time until the vet called and told him, “The operation was a success. Camryn is awake. You can come and get him.””

0

The Other Shoe

I’ve been suspicious lately. It’s just the things that’ve been happening. I feel like I’m being set up.

  1. I have a weekly beer get-together with some friends. I wasn’t planning to go and passed that word along. Then, I changed my mind at the last minute and sent out an email telling the gang that I’d be there after all. Three others showed up who’d originally said they weren’t coming, telling me that they had come because I said I was coming. Well, thank you.
  2. My wife’s friend told her that she had a wonderful time talking with me at a party. She said that I was charming.  I almost spit out my wine when I heard that. My wife said that she noted to her friend, “Well, he was well-lubricated that night.”
  3. The baristas keep serving me free coffee. I’m suspicious. What do they want? Are they giving everyone free coffee? Are they giving anyone else free coffee? What’s their motive?
  4. Our Friendsgiving host gave me a huge hug and a grin when I arrived, and told me, “I’m so happy to see you. I’m so glad you came.” I figured that he must’ve been high.
  5. An actor showed up at Friendsgiving, causing a stir. People later looked him up on IMDB and were all abuzz at his credits. I didn’t know the guy and barely said ten words to him (it was a big crowd in a small place) but when he left, he sought me out and gave me his card, telling me, “I’m trying to write fiction, and several people told me that I need to talk with you. Please give me a call when you have a chance.” “Okay, I will,” I said, eyeing him, taking his card, and wondering, what are you up to? He looked harmless, but he is an actor.
  6. Got fan email telling me how much they loved one of my novels, how well written and smooth it was. I thought, what kind of con are you trying to pull? I wondered if they had the right author.

All this in less than two weeks. It’s more than I can take. I’m waiting for the other shoe to drop, if you know what I mean.

7

The Lesson

His backpack seems light. Walking along, he thinks, what did he forget? In a flash, he concludes, OMG, I forgot the power brick. As he walks, he considers options and decides, just stay off the net, edit, and work as long as possible before the power is gone.

It’s a downer because he was looking forward to the work session. Now it was all changed.

But unpacking, everything is there. He’d forgotten nothing. It would be business as usual.

Sipping his coffee, he thinks, I put all that energy into worrying about a possibility that didn’t come to be, a possibility based on a false perception.

There must be a lesson there, he decides, and then goes to work.

2

Blog at WordPress.com.

Up ↑