realistic_dreams epitome of incomprehensibility I_have_weird_dreams, yes, but sometimes they're more interesting (and disturbing) when they seem real. The night before last: I was in the backyard, and I flew higher than the treetops there, thinking, "It isn't true you can only fly as high as the treetops," as if this were some urban myth I'd just disproved. Soon after I found out my mother was dying. It had something to do with planting ferns, or not being outside enough, or possibly with me flying. The disease would screw up her mind, the doctor said, weeks before it killed her... but there I was playing Settlers of Catan with her, and she seemed normal if a bit giddy. She thought the word "wheat" sounded funny. The scene was very touching. Then I was in the park, swinging on a swingset that in real life was torn down a few years ago to make room for new things. Heather - a friend who's now living somewhere else - was swinging next to me. She was trying to comfort me by saying, "She'll be in heaven," and I said, "But how do you know? You don't know anything." I realized I wasn't just being stubborn, I really didn't know, because death is a block and you can't see past it. Perhaps death was like the midpoint of my swinging cycle, I thought while going back and forth, except it wasn't because I could still see what was ahead and I didn't get anywhere new. ... Last night: I found out about an open meeting in the publishing company and went there by bicycle, though Dorval kept turning into Pointe Claire and that made it hard to find, especially since I was trying to get to the "Mount Royal Tunnel." When I arrived, one of my neighbours was there because she did "data analysis." The head of sales (we'll call him B. because that isn't his initial) wasn't happy to see me, but I had my neighbour there for support. B. called the meeting together: the company, he announced, would now sell books for teenagers as well as children. Suggestion time. I put up my hand. "Why don't you reprint classics?" B., haughtily: "Do teenagers READ classics?" Me: "Classics aren't under copyright anymore so they'll be cheaper to produce." There was general agreement as to the wisdom of this statement. "Schools will buy them for their students. Books like Oliver Twist" (or perhaps it was Gulliver's Travels; one of the two) "or 1984." I had a moment of doubt. "Is 1984 out of copyright?" B., again haughtily, "It's been out of copyright for ages. Since 1992." More people talked while I had an epiphany. See, at first I'd been thinking I could impress B. if I demonstrated myself smarter than my co-workers, so he would put me back in my original position or a better one. Then, I was worried that I sounded awkward and stupider than everyone else, so I was sure to be a failure. But as everyone was talking, I realized I was no better or worse than anyone else at working in general, since everyone had their strengths and weaknesses. Not rocket science, I know, but that stuck with me, because I have a tendency to think I'm either better or worse (at X action or task) than the people around me, and I need to stop comparing people and people. (Comparing apples and oranges, though, is good for the soul. People should do THAT more often.) 130613 ... e_o_i Before or after turning "Herodotus" into the name of a Greek play rather than the name of a Greek historian, my mind came up with this slightly frightening scene: I was at my parents' piano, and I found it was audibly out of tune. Not just a difference of tone between the low and high registers, but the D next to middle C didn't even make an octave with the D below it. It was more like a minor ninth. This was distressing. "How will I record an accompaniment?" I thought. "All my ambitions are falling apart!" Which was melodramatic, but exactly what might occur to me in real life, in the contemplation of multiple little problems. 140101 ... epitome of incomprehensibility This one scared me because it started out just realistic enough to be a real conversation, but with my mother scarily out of character... We are in a room with a table and she's telling me I should shave my legs more in winter. Or else I'll look like a lesbian and lesbians are gross. I have to inform her that J. doesn't shave her legs in winter and that J. has a boyfriend who at least sees her ANKLES. I don't want to tell her that people my age have sex, though my age appears to be my age in real life, so I focus on ankles. Ankles are safe. And then I turn this on its head by telling her that I have to have sex with girls, and soon, or else I'll start having children. This is a concern. Behind my laptop, my brother shrinks into his blanket, which is called a niqab and has his tartan. She tells him to get off the computer. I say I'm not a lesbian because I'm not gay or straight, and I don't see why everyone is gay or straight, and I'm really not trying to upset people. Except I am, because she's annoyed me by uncovering my own prejudices, which is that I don't like women who look too (stereotypically) masculine, though now I don't know if that's really true, because I can't tell what's real and I realize I might not really know anybody. Meanwhile, I have to turn off all the lights in this room. It takes a while because there are hidden lamps, and candles, and branching candelabras whose bulbs are individual flashlights that have to be switched off one by one. It's a relief when it's finally dark, and the small red "generator light" plus the moonlight are my only accompaniment. 140216 ... e_o_i Saturday-Sunday night: in an exercise experiment at McGill, they've given me a tank top to wear, and I don't want to lift my arms because it's not summer I'll have hair under my arms and that'll be embarrassing... but then I shrug and go ahead anyway, because: a) I'm not wearing my glasses and so things are blurred, and if I can't see people well, I can pretend other people can't see me; b) One of the other participants is a writer from Vancouver and she talks about dismantling gender stereotypes, so I'm idealistically hoping that she'll take note of the hairy armpits, think I'm all gender unconventional just because of that because it's somehow barrier-breaking to have a woman with a more feminine shape (albeit the slim-short shape, not the sexy-curvy shape) not shaving her armpits in the winter time! Because that's logic! and then she'll totally work with me to advance my career! 141117 ... e_o_i Ha. What's with all the hair stuff? If I were a male sort of person with the added burden of facial hair and all of its various social conventions I wouldn't know what to do. (No, not true. I'd grow a beard and braid it.) To be more on-topic: I think this is less "Look, some of my dreams are realistic" and more "Wow, I have totally unrealistic thought processes a lot of the time, and when they show up in dreams it highlights how weird they are in ordinary life." Ah well. This line of thinking is all rather self-absorbed anyway. Let me talk about hair and symmetry, two widespread social issues. 141117 ... e_o_i (Also, I miss the days when dream goals were less about careers and more about throwing ribbons at the sky to crack its surface.) 141117 ... e_o_i Bus. Metro. Train. Swimming pool. Database. Meh. I wanna fly and stuff. 150214 what's it to you? who go blather from