All of my dreams, the ones I'm not playing an extra in, are work or family (as in, stepfather / mom issues getting played out). A constant dream mechanism: elevators never work right, and they are terrifying, unpredictable, out of control, and often I'm the only one reacting badly when they suddenly go sideways at Mach 9.
Pandemic dreams have been a massive wave of the collective coming to terms with the horror of losing so many people. They've been bright and weirdly colored and superbly directed.
Lately though it's just me forgetting my mask. So many "I forgot my mask" dreams.
My therapist broke up with me by ghosting last year. She'd missed a few appointments and things were just kind of flat, the phone therapy thing sucks because all cell phones suck, and anyway, it'd been eight years. I texted her with, hey, maybe we should take a break. I've never heard back.
I harbor no ill will, she is an amazing part of many lives, mine included.
I'm thinking that being this age...well, I think it's alright. They say (they = a study) that your unhappiest age is 47. Everything after that it's like you know more about what the actual weight of things is. It's like, you know when you can just let shit slide. It's like, you're defined, fully baked, and you stop giving a shit about a lot of minor nonsense.
I think I get that. The last ten years were truly the worst years for me, but some of the best too. And now I have all this perspective. And I just don't give a shit about most things.
But I still dream of work. And my mother. And the world without masks.
|< Not allowed to take any painkillers till after the surgery. | This is the saddest, sweetest, thing I've seen in years. >|