Archive for the ‘Dreams’ Category

The Gothic Teenage Wannabe Actress

March 10, 2009

There is a Gothic teenage wannabe actress inside me who doesn’t want to clean closets, but, nonetheless, I’m pretty certain she is trying to get out. This I know because of a recent dream I had, the night before last, to be exact. I dreamed that I entered a completely strange hair salon and climbed into the chair of a male hairdresser. He draped a black nylon cape over my shoulders and proceeded to transform my 55-yr-old, short, fine, nearly white, moussed-upward-at-the-roots-hair into … hair that belonged on a 15-yr-old female Goth’s head, jet black, cropped and spiked, with straight black bangs and black fork-tongued swirls of hair licking my face. Not bad, the fifteen-yr-old-inside-me-wanting-out thought to herself, as I exited the salon, except I looked in my planner and saw that I had an appointment that same day with my hairdresser for my 55-yr old hair, whom I’d been going to for the past seven years. Oh no! She couldn’t know what I had done! Could I just stand her up? What about next month? … Then I woke up.

The night before that I dreamed I was in a play. I was a western female character who appeared in the second half. All during the first half I was sitting on a set of bleachers in broad daylight watching the show with a batch of ex-co-workers (specific ones I knew from my ex-job who formed a tight clique). Some were members of the cast (in larger roles) and some were there to support the others.

So there I was hanging off the far right corner of the bottom bleacher assessing myself and coming up way short – my home-made ‘western’ costume with my corny ill-fitting skirt and droopy blouse that wouldn’t stay tucked in, my long mottled neck sticking up through the collar like an aged telephone pole. Damn! I should have brought a red kerchief or something to tie around my scrawny neck! Oh why hadn’t I spent more time on my costume? Because now I am embarrassed to show myself.

I tucked my chin to hide my face under the brim of my straw (not even western-looking!) hat and peered out from under it just enough to witness my ex co-workers three bleachers above me, sharing jokes, laughing uproariously (at who or what I couldn’t guess), looking right in their element, being soooo cool.

But, oh my, do I even remember my lines? Where’s the script? Wow, I can’t remember where I put the script! Can my character be up there on stage holding the script, reading her lines?

By now the first half of the play was over and it was intermission. A stage hand or someone came running up to me to tell me I had been cut from the play and replaced by … ‘Bill?’ … and she pointed to a lanky, white-faced boy standing by the stage who looked to be all of 17, and who also, I guess, liked playing female characters in plays.

Then I woke up. What was I supposed to do with that dream to jump start myself into my day? Enroll in acting classes? Whatever. I wish just once in my life I could fly in my dreams or even do exercise routines in my dreams, that would be a boon. Something to add positive and useful energy to my day. How about dream that I cooked a fabulous meal, or grew an incredibly awesome flower garden?

Unless I discover at age 55 that all I really wanna do is become a Gothic 15-yr-old wannabe actress.

Fear of Flying (?)

March 9, 2009

The stuff that dreams are made of … sleep-dreams, that is. Some people dream in color; some fall to sleep and then dream they are flying, or so I’ve heard. Wow! Well, I don’t recall ever having one dream in color or flying in my sleep. Unless I only fly during dreams I’ll never remember because I only recall dreams I have as I am waking up.

This morning I was dreaming that as part of my ‘back recovery’ program my physical therapist made a home visit to examine my closet and dressers. She swiped her ant-detecting device around the surface of my antique highboy dresser and the device ‘beeped.’ Sure enough, there was a stream of ants marching up the back of the dresser and then disappearing into a large crack. She wrestled a cock-eyed middle drawer open and I grabbed her arm to restrain her, exclaiming, “Hey, I don’t open these drawers!” Out of the drawer she jerked an over-sized dark-blue faded sweatshirt with a burn hole in the shoulder and tossed it on my lap. “Shouldn’t you get rid of this?” she hissed, as she began tossing clothes onto my lap that I hadn’t seen in years.

Then I woke up. The thought plagued me for the first hour of my day…”Okay, so I need to clean out my closets!” Which I do … I have a butt-load of old stuff (and some of it is new stuff) I don’t wear. And the stuff gets in the way, like a bunch of hanging corpses, when I’m sorting through the hangers in my closet trying to find something I do wear.

If I can dream that my physical therapist is making home visits, why can’t I also dream that she is exercising with me rigorously right as I’m waking up? Or even that I am exercising rigorously all by myself? Then I might possibly wake up feeling fit and ready to roll with EXERCISE! on my mind, instead of with my overstuffed, disorganized, cobwebby closets on my mind (as well as all the numerous other storage places in our house crammed to the gills, cobwebby, and quite possibly infested with ants).

Wouldn’t it be nice to fall asleep and fly through the blue air, gazing over the wondrous landscape as I rise to rest on pink cottony clouds. Then soar through warm purple mists that caress my face before finding my way back again. I would awaken with my head nestled gently on my pillow, ready to begin my day, my body kissed by the universe.

Not in my dreams! I must have a fear of flying in my sleep state. Well, I do know that in my awake state I have a fear of cleaning out storage areas – there are just so many of them in our house, so crammed with stuff that to start the project could launch me into a black hole out of which I might never return.