on the needles
in my head
red head press
the cunning james
the capacious hold-all
abbie the cat
no impact man
starting from scratch
stitch 'n bitch army
gambling & whoring
can't sit still
knits and pieces
sweet little domestic life
transference of addiction
1 mandal bed
1 mandal wardrobe
1 ethel rund shower curtain
another girl @ play
melanie mauer photography
le cadavre exquis
all about my vagina
voluntary human extinction movement
did I do that?
nz in 2003
life with nadja
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...I don't know about you, but when I dream, it's always in the morning. Ok, maybe I dream in the middle of the night and I just don't remember it, or maybe I start dreaming then and it just lasts so long that it goes until morning, but I am awakened in the middle of a dream nearly every weekday. It's part of why I have trouble getting up in the mornings -- my brain is still otherwise engaged, and usually my dreams are surreal enough that the part of me which is lucid really wants to see what will happen next. (Submarine full of Japanese tourists that I pass through like a ghost as I sink to the bottom of the ocean only to find an underwater cave housing a secret military base, anyone?)
This morning, however, I was dreaming about Joe, and when Hubby whispered to me that it was time to get up, by Gods, I got up, even though half of me was still in the dream and my brain felt the consistency of cotton wool soaked in Jello.
The dream was odd, and long, and I was almost nice to him. There was a store/tavern kind of place that I think was supposed to be ReBelle, yet in a WoW-y sort of way. It was on the second floor of a building. The lighting was dim, and there were a few SnB'ers present, but I can't remember which ones. I want to say Raellyn and Jane, maybe Kells? I was knitting a sock with some slinky nylon/polymid yarn in a tutti-frutti colorway (tropical reds, pinks, oranges, and yellows). I was using metal needles, and it the yarn was much too slippery for them. I was having a hell of a time of it, and my stitches weren't even at all.
I'm not sure when Joe walked in, or how long I sat there knitting while consciously ignoring him.
Eventually he ventured into our conversation with some speculation about knitting and I gave a nasty retort to the effect of, "Oh, really? So you're an expert now?" without looking his way. He went back to his beer. (Ah, dreams, where you can know these things without being able to see them.)
He tried again some minutes later. Another nasty comment from me. Rinse, repeat. At this point I was starting to get panicky. I couldn't figure out why the fuck he was there, in my space with my friends, talking about my hobby in that perfectly calm tone he used once near my birthday when we fought, I stormed off, and he followed, testing the water with an innocent phrase. I bolted. I'd like to think I pulled it off as casual, but it was more of a scramble; I out-and-out bolted from the room, knitting discarded, yarn caught around my ankle. I skidded down the steps (wooden) and hid in a doorway beneath them. I heard Joe coming down the stairs (again, ah, dreams, where you can know things without seeing them). I ducked out and around the building to hide in another doorway. (Note to dream self: For real now. How sad was that?)
This doorway was near a window, and I could hear my friends talking (the LYS owners and their significant others), wondering who this guy was, why he scared me so much, if I would be ok, etc.
And, of course, while listening to this I wasn't listening for Joe. He came up behind me put his hand on my right shoulder. I flinched as if stung. I was completely panicked at this point. My skin felt hot, my heart was pounding, I was having trouble focusing.
And then, dear freaking Gods, he asked me if I wanted to go play miniature golf.
I began to laugh hysterically. (The bad kind of hysterically, not the "oh, that's so funny!" kind.) He smiled at me, the bastard, that smile, that stupid, kind smile that had made me trust him in the first place. It pulled at me. I said ok, if he wanted to finally have this all out, we could go somewhere and talk. (This conversation was neatly lifted by my subconscious from a truthsome evening I spent with my ex-husband wherein we ended up becoming sort-of friends again.)
We walked to his car, got in, and drove to the mall. Ok, I know what you're thinking here: "The mall?" You've got to understand how much I hate the mall for it to make any sense in the context of this dream. The mall we went to was one I've dreamt of before. It's massive, multileveled (as in, 10 or 12 levels), and designed to look the same all over so it's very easy to get lost in. Just pulling into the parking lot was enough to make dream-me start feeling panicky again. He parked the car, we got out, and started to walk in. I thinking that this was all a very bad idea.
Then Hubby woke me up.
I couldn't get out of that dream fast enough. I didn't even fuss at Roscoe when he nibbled my fingers because it helped pull me back to real life.
And I've felt slightly manky all day.
(PS - for those of you keeping score, the last time I dreamt about Joe was 2006. At least he wasn't hitting on me in this one.)
thus proclaimeth the Zabet 11:00 AM 0 comment(s)
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