Good morning, everybody.
Dream #1
It was night. I was in a restaurant with my old friend ML. We may have been with some other friends. The restaurant we were in was dim, lit by candlelight. The restaurant may have been a French-style restaurant or fancy cafe.
ML and I walked up to a bar on the opposite side of the restaurant from our table. We were apparently going to order desserts from the bar, like the bar was actually a coffee and pastry counter. There was a stand-up card display of desserts. There may also have been a fold-out menu.
ML may already have known what he wanted. I had to look for a minute to decide. I felt like ML was a little disappointed in me. I felt like he thought that, by getting dessert, I was overeating. I may have thought that I could make ML less disappointed in me by getting a light dessert rather than a heavy one. But I may have decided on some kind of chocolate-coated chocolate cheesecake with some kind of sweet, red shavings or sprinkles on it.
Dream #2
It was night. I was in a small bedroom a few floors up in a small apartment building. The bedroom probably wasn't mine: I was probably just watching it for somebody. The room was cluttered. It had two beds, both of which were piled up with the room owner's belongings. In addition to watching the room, I may also possibly have been assigned to ordering the room so that some of these personal belongings could easily be moved out.
I had been facing a bed along one of the short end walls. I now noticed that the bed to my right had some piles of neatly folded clothes all stacked up under something that looked like a broken-apart desk. I looked closer at the clothes and saw they were mainly women's clothes.
Then I saw some panties. The panties were kind of tiny, maybe for young girls, probably too small for me. But I figured I'd try to wear them, anyway. I tried on one pair of panties. They may have fit, but I wasn't satisfied with them.
There were a second pair, which I thought were lovely. They were also tiny. The hips had a wide look to them, like a mix between boy-short panties and bikini panties. They were white cotton, but they had childish, purple designs on them, maybe like letters and numbers. There may also have been a "pocket" design somewhere, like the pentagonal house-shape of the back pockets of jeans, except really small.
I may have wanted to try on these panties. But as I did, I could hear three or four old people down on the sidewalk outside. They were having some normal conversation. They were completely unaware of me. But I thought that if I could hear them right now, they might be able, at any point in time, to see me trying on these panties.
I think the people who owned this apartment knew I was a bit of a transvestite, and they didn't care. But I didn't want other people to know. I wasn't even really afraid of the old people downstairs knowing. What I was more worried about were younger guys walking past the building, accidentally seeing me, getting angry, and deciding to get violent with me. So I decided not to try wearing the panties, even though I liked them a lot.
Showing posts with label eating habits. Show all posts
Showing posts with label eating habits. Show all posts
Thursday, October 25, 2012
Thursday, October 18, 2012
not quite hired; nephew's medical dilemma; a sculpture in new york
Good morning, everybody.
Dream #1
I was at a job interview. It was supposed to be a professional place, but it looked more like the backstage area of a theater. It seemed to be full of worktables and cluttered everywhere with colored fabrics and trinkets. There was one little office where my interviewer, MH, sat. The room was buried within the clutter of the rest of the place.
MH had decided that he wouldn't be able to hire me. He seemed to be disappointed in my interview. I walked away from the office, rather disappointed in myself and depressed. But only a few seconds later (though it may have felt, in some way, like it was a day or two later), MH walked out and implied that he would like to hire me after all.
MH set up some kind of desk space for me on one of the work tables by clearing off some of the piles of colored fabrics and laying down a laptop. MH hadn't quite told me he'd like me to work for him. Instead, he told me something like he needed me to stick around for a while. He said he needed some kind of data entered into a system before some event occurred, like the visit of some clients. He was just asking me if I could do this project as a favor to him. But I understood that if I did this project well, I'd probably stick around for even longer.
A couple other guys now started filtering into the room. They looked young, like recent college graduates. One of them seemed to be dressed in business casual clothes. But at least one other guy was dressed in a strange, but somewhat fashionable way. One of these guys was very short and pale. He had slightly shaggy, black hair. He wore pale, greyish jeans and a pale, greyish, denim jacket. Something else about his attire looked very clunky an 1980s-style.
The young men, when they saw me, seemed to be jealous of me, wondering whether I wasn't here to take away their jobs. I tried to make a point, apparently through my body language, that I was here to do a completely different job, not to take anybody's job.
To prove this, at one point, I stood up right when the grey denim boy was walking past me. I may have been planning to show him something. Instead, the young man became a little frightened of me and began walking backwards as I walked forward. But somehow we began talking, and eventually we were talking either about something we both liked (like some kind of art) or about some kind of project I'd now volunteered to help the grey denim boy with.
I may have been a little worried, now, about helping the grey denim boy with a project. It seemed like he was kind of weird. I didn't know if everybody else would think I was weird for helping this boy with something. But then I realized that most everybody else here also dressed weird. So nobody would think anything about it.
The grey denim boy and I had cleared off some of the clutter of colored fabrics from a work table. There was now a whole cookie sheet of sweet-looking desserts. The desserts were like scone-sized globs of maple, pecans, and sugar, all clumped and crystallized together. There wasn't any crust or pastry or anything attached to these sugary globs.
The whole team of workers was now, apparently, gathering together to have some kind of a team meal and meeting. We gathered at a table in the center of the room. There were little spaces cleared out for each of us, so we could sit down our meals, or desserts, and our laptops. But the clutter was so high that we couldn't see around it to the other people sitting at the table with us.
The meeting never seemed to start or finish. Instead, people seemed to take forever to sit down, and then they'd stand right back up and walk away. I sat at my space, waiting for instructions or something. I thought about eating my dessert. But I felt bad about doing so. I knew that eating too much during the day would make my body act weird. I was trying to figure whether I could somehow work eating the dessert into a schedule that would be okay for my body.
Dream #2
I was in an elevator with an older man. The man was white, stood tall, wore a nice business suit, and had fine, white hair. The elevator we were in was going straight up at first. But then it began going upward and forward, diagonally, like we were traveling in an elevator car, but along the tracks of an escalator.
We were, I knew, going up to the 23rd (or 28th?) floor. I knew that my youngest nephew had just been admitted to the hospital. He was sick, possibly with a pulmonary illness. The old man and I were coming to visit my nephew. I believe that we understood, at this point, that nobody else in the family knew about my nephew's condition, including my sister and my mom, who lived with and took care of my nephew.
The doctors wanted to give my nephew some medication. But the doctors didn't know what medication to give him. They apparently couldn't get a hold of my sister or mother, so they called me. The old man and I were now standing just outside the hospital.
I got the message from the doctors via text on my phone. I didn't know how to respond to it. I thought that before I responded to anything, it would be a good idea to try and get a hold of my mother and sister. After some trying, I may have gotten a hold of my mother and sister.
In fact, my sister may now have been sitting near me, on some brick ledge surrounding a raised planting area that held some small trees and shrubs. I may have tried to make a point to my sister that I hadn't been trying to control her life or her son's life by engaging in a conversation with the doctors.
I "said" (or just "felt to" my sister) that the doctors had contacted me, and that I was surprised they'd done so. I "said" that I had only been planning to respond to the doctors because I hadn't been able to get a hold of my sister or mom. I thought that if I couldn't get a hold of anybody, I'd have to respond. The situation seemed too important. It seemed like someone needed to make a decision sooner rather than later, to make sure my nephew was taken care of.
Dream #3
I was looking at a book of sculptures by Japanese artists. The artists all had a style very much like the style for which Takashi Murakami is famous: plastic-looking, cartoon-themed, and visually bubbly and complex. But a lot of the artists didn't color their works. The works would largely be all white.
The book had photos of these sculptures in stores all over the world. Some of the stores may have been cleared out to become temporary exhibit spaces for larger collections of art works. Other stores may have carried on with their business, with just one large piece of sculpture placed in the middle of a store.
The final photo I looked at was of a store I think I recognized as The Disney Store in New York City -- even though it was nothing like The Disney Store. It looked more like a bookstore. There were bookshelves spaced widely apart. The store was kind of small. The walls were barn-red. The ceilings were high. In the center of this store stood a tall, white pedestal with a small, white sculpture of a bulging-headed, Mickey Mouse-like character.
Even though I was looking at a book, the picture began moving panning toward the side, as if I were watching a video on a TV or computer. I felt like I knew the view I had been looking at. But now that the view was shifting, I was feeling less and less familiar with it. The idea of what place I was looking at had only slowly been dawning on me. Now I was losing my focus on what I was looking at.
At the same time, two girls, maybe both Asian girls, began talking near me. One of the girls was my friend. The other girl was my friend's friend, though she may have been my friend as well. My friend and I may have been on some kind of trip together. My friend and her friend were now talking about the various attractions in whatever city we were visiting. (Oddly enough, we may have been standing in the same place that the photo in the book was showing.)
I needed to get back to the first view this moving photo had shown. I put my finger down on the paper and swiped my finger over to the left. The photo, which had been panning off to the right, now moved left (I think). It now reached the original spot. This view looked mostly like the original view, even though I think there were some changes to the view that looked a little uncanny and frustrating to me.
I suddenly called out to the two girls, "Look! It's the Disney Store in New York! I can recognize it!" The girls may have looked at the photo for a moment, not really paying attention to what I was saying. Then they may have looked away. I had felt like it was really important for me to show that I knew the view. I was trying to prove to the girls that I had lived in New York, and that I knew the sights of New York. I was starting to think that nobody really believed anymore that I had ever lived in New York.
Dream #1
I was at a job interview. It was supposed to be a professional place, but it looked more like the backstage area of a theater. It seemed to be full of worktables and cluttered everywhere with colored fabrics and trinkets. There was one little office where my interviewer, MH, sat. The room was buried within the clutter of the rest of the place.
MH had decided that he wouldn't be able to hire me. He seemed to be disappointed in my interview. I walked away from the office, rather disappointed in myself and depressed. But only a few seconds later (though it may have felt, in some way, like it was a day or two later), MH walked out and implied that he would like to hire me after all.
MH set up some kind of desk space for me on one of the work tables by clearing off some of the piles of colored fabrics and laying down a laptop. MH hadn't quite told me he'd like me to work for him. Instead, he told me something like he needed me to stick around for a while. He said he needed some kind of data entered into a system before some event occurred, like the visit of some clients. He was just asking me if I could do this project as a favor to him. But I understood that if I did this project well, I'd probably stick around for even longer.
A couple other guys now started filtering into the room. They looked young, like recent college graduates. One of them seemed to be dressed in business casual clothes. But at least one other guy was dressed in a strange, but somewhat fashionable way. One of these guys was very short and pale. He had slightly shaggy, black hair. He wore pale, greyish jeans and a pale, greyish, denim jacket. Something else about his attire looked very clunky an 1980s-style.
The young men, when they saw me, seemed to be jealous of me, wondering whether I wasn't here to take away their jobs. I tried to make a point, apparently through my body language, that I was here to do a completely different job, not to take anybody's job.
To prove this, at one point, I stood up right when the grey denim boy was walking past me. I may have been planning to show him something. Instead, the young man became a little frightened of me and began walking backwards as I walked forward. But somehow we began talking, and eventually we were talking either about something we both liked (like some kind of art) or about some kind of project I'd now volunteered to help the grey denim boy with.
I may have been a little worried, now, about helping the grey denim boy with a project. It seemed like he was kind of weird. I didn't know if everybody else would think I was weird for helping this boy with something. But then I realized that most everybody else here also dressed weird. So nobody would think anything about it.
The grey denim boy and I had cleared off some of the clutter of colored fabrics from a work table. There was now a whole cookie sheet of sweet-looking desserts. The desserts were like scone-sized globs of maple, pecans, and sugar, all clumped and crystallized together. There wasn't any crust or pastry or anything attached to these sugary globs.
The whole team of workers was now, apparently, gathering together to have some kind of a team meal and meeting. We gathered at a table in the center of the room. There were little spaces cleared out for each of us, so we could sit down our meals, or desserts, and our laptops. But the clutter was so high that we couldn't see around it to the other people sitting at the table with us.
The meeting never seemed to start or finish. Instead, people seemed to take forever to sit down, and then they'd stand right back up and walk away. I sat at my space, waiting for instructions or something. I thought about eating my dessert. But I felt bad about doing so. I knew that eating too much during the day would make my body act weird. I was trying to figure whether I could somehow work eating the dessert into a schedule that would be okay for my body.
Dream #2
I was in an elevator with an older man. The man was white, stood tall, wore a nice business suit, and had fine, white hair. The elevator we were in was going straight up at first. But then it began going upward and forward, diagonally, like we were traveling in an elevator car, but along the tracks of an escalator.
We were, I knew, going up to the 23rd (or 28th?) floor. I knew that my youngest nephew had just been admitted to the hospital. He was sick, possibly with a pulmonary illness. The old man and I were coming to visit my nephew. I believe that we understood, at this point, that nobody else in the family knew about my nephew's condition, including my sister and my mom, who lived with and took care of my nephew.
The doctors wanted to give my nephew some medication. But the doctors didn't know what medication to give him. They apparently couldn't get a hold of my sister or mother, so they called me. The old man and I were now standing just outside the hospital.
I got the message from the doctors via text on my phone. I didn't know how to respond to it. I thought that before I responded to anything, it would be a good idea to try and get a hold of my mother and sister. After some trying, I may have gotten a hold of my mother and sister.
In fact, my sister may now have been sitting near me, on some brick ledge surrounding a raised planting area that held some small trees and shrubs. I may have tried to make a point to my sister that I hadn't been trying to control her life or her son's life by engaging in a conversation with the doctors.
I "said" (or just "felt to" my sister) that the doctors had contacted me, and that I was surprised they'd done so. I "said" that I had only been planning to respond to the doctors because I hadn't been able to get a hold of my sister or mom. I thought that if I couldn't get a hold of anybody, I'd have to respond. The situation seemed too important. It seemed like someone needed to make a decision sooner rather than later, to make sure my nephew was taken care of.
Dream #3
I was looking at a book of sculptures by Japanese artists. The artists all had a style very much like the style for which Takashi Murakami is famous: plastic-looking, cartoon-themed, and visually bubbly and complex. But a lot of the artists didn't color their works. The works would largely be all white.
The book had photos of these sculptures in stores all over the world. Some of the stores may have been cleared out to become temporary exhibit spaces for larger collections of art works. Other stores may have carried on with their business, with just one large piece of sculpture placed in the middle of a store.
The final photo I looked at was of a store I think I recognized as The Disney Store in New York City -- even though it was nothing like The Disney Store. It looked more like a bookstore. There were bookshelves spaced widely apart. The store was kind of small. The walls were barn-red. The ceilings were high. In the center of this store stood a tall, white pedestal with a small, white sculpture of a bulging-headed, Mickey Mouse-like character.
Even though I was looking at a book, the picture began moving panning toward the side, as if I were watching a video on a TV or computer. I felt like I knew the view I had been looking at. But now that the view was shifting, I was feeling less and less familiar with it. The idea of what place I was looking at had only slowly been dawning on me. Now I was losing my focus on what I was looking at.
At the same time, two girls, maybe both Asian girls, began talking near me. One of the girls was my friend. The other girl was my friend's friend, though she may have been my friend as well. My friend and I may have been on some kind of trip together. My friend and her friend were now talking about the various attractions in whatever city we were visiting. (Oddly enough, we may have been standing in the same place that the photo in the book was showing.)
I needed to get back to the first view this moving photo had shown. I put my finger down on the paper and swiped my finger over to the left. The photo, which had been panning off to the right, now moved left (I think). It now reached the original spot. This view looked mostly like the original view, even though I think there were some changes to the view that looked a little uncanny and frustrating to me.
I suddenly called out to the two girls, "Look! It's the Disney Store in New York! I can recognize it!" The girls may have looked at the photo for a moment, not really paying attention to what I was saying. Then they may have looked away. I had felt like it was really important for me to show that I knew the view. I was trying to prove to the girls that I had lived in New York, and that I knew the sights of New York. I was starting to think that nobody really believed anymore that I had ever lived in New York.
Sunday, April 1, 2012
mountaintop temple suicide
Good morning, everybody.
Dream #1
I was outside, probably in front of a tall, white house or a white apartment building. I received news that a person I had formed a relationship on behalf of the business I worked for had committed suicide. The person's name was mentioned, and I heard it very plainly.
I was surprised to hear that this man had committed suicide, and I was sad for him. But I also worried about myself. It seemed like everybody I was forming relationships with for my business was dropping out from the thing they had signed up for, for one reason or another. I wondered how I could have chosen such consistently unstable people.
I imagined that the man had either hung himself or shot himself. While still standing out in front of the building, all by myself, I began to have a lot of white flashes flood my view. I assumed these were the flashes the man saw as he died: something like flares from the impact of bullets, or something like that.
I was now standing outside in the mountains. The sky was starry and dark blue. The ground and branches of the pine trees were covered with snow. There were other people at a certain distance from me, all facing away from me and toward something else, as if they were engaged in some sort of task that I probably should have been a part of.
A man began speaking to me, probably in my head. He was an older man, Chicano, or possibly Native American. He was some kind of worker, possibly a parks worker or a truck driver. He told me that it was getting harder and harder to work here because of the thieves and other kinds of criminals that were around.
I told the man that the best thing to do was probably to head up to the top of the mountain. I now looked over and saw the mountaintop I was referring to. I could see that I was on a kind of plateau, about halfway up the mountain. The mountain then sloped up and went to a very high point. I told the man that high up on the mountain nobody would bother him. I may even have thought of heading up there myself.
I walked toward the crowd. There seemed to be a man at the front of the crowd singing. There was a yellowish light on him or behind him, making the atmosphere around him very warm. The man sat on a stool before a microphone and played an acoustic guitar as he sang. It was kind of like an open mic night at a coffee shop.
I was now inside a bar or a cafe that also served alcohol. The man (or somebody else?) now seemed just to be getting started with his set. I thought I should stay there and hear his set. But now everybody who had been sitting, on stools as well, around the man were getting up and filtering out of the crowd. I was one of the few people left. It didn't seem like the other remaining people were really certain they would stay, either.
I looked around, trying to decide whether I should stay or go, like the crowd had. As I looked around, my eye caught a woman serving drinks to the remaining people. I thought that maybe this "concert" had a two drink minimum. I didn't want to drink any alcohol. But I knew I had to drink something.
I could see that the woman serving drinks had a glass, or a few glasses, or seltzer water. I thought that maybe I could just drink seltzer water.
I saw that the edge of the bar, which was to my right and maybe three meters away from me, had a few glasses of seltzer water on it. I looked over to the wall behind the singer. There was a dark, wooden, shelf-like counter for people to stand and drink at. There was a whole line of glasses of seltzer water. These glasses had been drunk out of. Some glasses were empty. Others were half-empty.
I thought that I really didn't want seltzer water. It didn't have any taste. But I didn't want liquor, either. I walked up to the bar and asked the man behind the bar, "Can I just have a Pepsi?"
The man nodded and was about to pour me a Pepsi. But I then said, "Oh-- no-- wait a minute. Maybe I can get one of those drinks. Those virgin, oh... how do you call it? A Shirley Temple?"
The man kind of laughed at me for ordering a Shirley Temple. But he started making it for me. I walked back toward the audience seating area, feeling a little silly for ordering such a froofy, non-alcoholic drink as a Shirley Temple.
I was then somewhere else, some place like a cafe or a cafe-like restaurant. But I was in some corner of the room, looking at the wall, kind of pointing my view about halfway down between my head and the floor.
Some woman was talking in my head. I knew she was a kind of healthy, but stern and worn-looking, blonde woman. She may have seemed like she was in her late forties, given her worn look and her sombre kind of attitude. But she may really only have been in her early twenties.
The woman told me that the man who had committed suicide had really actually died from something biological. He had either eaten a kind of food he wasn't supposed to eat, or else he had eaten too much of the food. His eating habits had killed him.
The woman said that the man justified his bad eating habits, and the fact that he wasn't able to resist food that he knew would kill him, by saying that life wasn't worth anything anyway, so why should he go to the effort of preserving this worthless life by abstaining from foods he liked. Because of this, it was said that the man had committed suicide.
I suddenly felt a lot better. I had previously thought that the man had committed suicide in a more violent way. If this had been the case, my choice to have started up a business relationship with him would, apparently, have shown my carelessness in discernment of personality. But because the man had only killed himself in a benign way, like eating the wrong foods, I hadn't been such a bad judge of character, after all.
Dream #1
I was outside, probably in front of a tall, white house or a white apartment building. I received news that a person I had formed a relationship on behalf of the business I worked for had committed suicide. The person's name was mentioned, and I heard it very plainly.
I was surprised to hear that this man had committed suicide, and I was sad for him. But I also worried about myself. It seemed like everybody I was forming relationships with for my business was dropping out from the thing they had signed up for, for one reason or another. I wondered how I could have chosen such consistently unstable people.
I imagined that the man had either hung himself or shot himself. While still standing out in front of the building, all by myself, I began to have a lot of white flashes flood my view. I assumed these were the flashes the man saw as he died: something like flares from the impact of bullets, or something like that.
I was now standing outside in the mountains. The sky was starry and dark blue. The ground and branches of the pine trees were covered with snow. There were other people at a certain distance from me, all facing away from me and toward something else, as if they were engaged in some sort of task that I probably should have been a part of.
A man began speaking to me, probably in my head. He was an older man, Chicano, or possibly Native American. He was some kind of worker, possibly a parks worker or a truck driver. He told me that it was getting harder and harder to work here because of the thieves and other kinds of criminals that were around.
I told the man that the best thing to do was probably to head up to the top of the mountain. I now looked over and saw the mountaintop I was referring to. I could see that I was on a kind of plateau, about halfway up the mountain. The mountain then sloped up and went to a very high point. I told the man that high up on the mountain nobody would bother him. I may even have thought of heading up there myself.
I walked toward the crowd. There seemed to be a man at the front of the crowd singing. There was a yellowish light on him or behind him, making the atmosphere around him very warm. The man sat on a stool before a microphone and played an acoustic guitar as he sang. It was kind of like an open mic night at a coffee shop.
I was now inside a bar or a cafe that also served alcohol. The man (or somebody else?) now seemed just to be getting started with his set. I thought I should stay there and hear his set. But now everybody who had been sitting, on stools as well, around the man were getting up and filtering out of the crowd. I was one of the few people left. It didn't seem like the other remaining people were really certain they would stay, either.
I looked around, trying to decide whether I should stay or go, like the crowd had. As I looked around, my eye caught a woman serving drinks to the remaining people. I thought that maybe this "concert" had a two drink minimum. I didn't want to drink any alcohol. But I knew I had to drink something.
I could see that the woman serving drinks had a glass, or a few glasses, or seltzer water. I thought that maybe I could just drink seltzer water.
I saw that the edge of the bar, which was to my right and maybe three meters away from me, had a few glasses of seltzer water on it. I looked over to the wall behind the singer. There was a dark, wooden, shelf-like counter for people to stand and drink at. There was a whole line of glasses of seltzer water. These glasses had been drunk out of. Some glasses were empty. Others were half-empty.
I thought that I really didn't want seltzer water. It didn't have any taste. But I didn't want liquor, either. I walked up to the bar and asked the man behind the bar, "Can I just have a Pepsi?"
The man nodded and was about to pour me a Pepsi. But I then said, "Oh-- no-- wait a minute. Maybe I can get one of those drinks. Those virgin, oh... how do you call it? A Shirley Temple?"
The man kind of laughed at me for ordering a Shirley Temple. But he started making it for me. I walked back toward the audience seating area, feeling a little silly for ordering such a froofy, non-alcoholic drink as a Shirley Temple.
I was then somewhere else, some place like a cafe or a cafe-like restaurant. But I was in some corner of the room, looking at the wall, kind of pointing my view about halfway down between my head and the floor.
Some woman was talking in my head. I knew she was a kind of healthy, but stern and worn-looking, blonde woman. She may have seemed like she was in her late forties, given her worn look and her sombre kind of attitude. But she may really only have been in her early twenties.
The woman told me that the man who had committed suicide had really actually died from something biological. He had either eaten a kind of food he wasn't supposed to eat, or else he had eaten too much of the food. His eating habits had killed him.
The woman said that the man justified his bad eating habits, and the fact that he wasn't able to resist food that he knew would kill him, by saying that life wasn't worth anything anyway, so why should he go to the effort of preserving this worthless life by abstaining from foods he liked. Because of this, it was said that the man had committed suicide.
I suddenly felt a lot better. I had previously thought that the man had committed suicide in a more violent way. If this had been the case, my choice to have started up a business relationship with him would, apparently, have shown my carelessness in discernment of personality. But because the man had only killed himself in a benign way, like eating the wrong foods, I hadn't been such a bad judge of character, after all.
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