I am pathetic and gross, and I miss my boyfriend. Last night I dreamt Paris (or some other Haussmann-type city) was quickly drowning in a tide of lava, and even though we were only on the second floor I was having a hard time caring because it was so nice to see him. But somehow we caught a train out of there that got us to a town that was some sort of hybrid of Scilla and Scarborough, which assuredly wasn't flooded with lava. We couldn't decide what restaurant to go to based on their poshness and the amount of customers already inside - ended up going to a high-scale pizza joint where we had to go in the back door. I was bodychecking people out of my way to get to the small line-up at the front door.
There was more to it, but it's rude and I had to get that down in note form here to be ready for analysis on Wednesday. I feel that I won't write anything else today. I always pay more attention to my dreams and things here because I always think it's going to be relaxing and liesured but it never is. And things here are surprisingly busy even by normal standards. It was actually a struggle to find time to see J*Fish because there was lots of preparation and disassembly from all the Christmas music my mum has been organizing for her orchestra (the concert was quite nice) and the carol thing yesterday - painful, but gave me a chance to ponder the miracle of God being born a man.
That's the only bit of Christian belief that's joyful and beautiful to me instead of just being "Oh, Lord, You're so big, so awfully huge. We're all really impressed down here, I can tell you!" or pleas to not get sent to a hell that was depicted in such lurid, horrific detail over the past couple thousand years. The idea that you have a perfectly powerful god who's willing to go through all the pain of being human, as though to demonstrate to us that even when you get killed in a way that was brutal by brutal early Empire standards, things can't be as bad as they're cracked up to be. I can totally buy celebrating that at Christmas. It makes sense. The days start to get longer and we can drag ourselves from the depths of comparatively sunless, foodless despair and start thinking about a viable growing season again.
My point is, things here are fine but I'm glad I'm going back to Toronto tomorrow.
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What do you make of that dream?
My early morning dream today was intensely real - I was being put into a trance by Ewan McGregor, a witch assigned to help witch novices (myself) learn how to teleport. He was singing this incredibly happy song, I thought I was going to burst with joy. Then Krazy shifted and since I was spooning him, I woke up and that was that. :( I thought I would throw that in, since we're talking about dreams...
Glad the concert was nice, how is J*Fish??
Fuck me purple if I know, Sugar. I'd guess that what Paris represents to me is a certain way of thinking or feeling that used to be key to my identity, and whose destruction, though catastrophic, is something I can accept now because of how I feel about things now. Since it's Paris and the "bilan" is only so-so, I'm going to assume it's the destruction of something pretty lousy. Going to Scarborough, where Mummy is from, and Scilla (in Calabria, where Daddy was from) with the re-discovered apple of my eye to eat fish and pizza probably means getting back to my roots with a new wisdom.
I'm sure my analyst will tell me what it means though.
J*Fish is fine, Mel, fucking busy and living with a pair of completely retarded 20 year olds, but almost done for the year.
I enjoy reading your deconstructions of dreams. They are so informed.
Thanks, Sugar. I feel like it's got easier to think about dreams since I started thinking about them as different parts of the brain talking to each other.
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