Dreamed 2001/3/14 by Chris Wayan
In the morning, I type up several dreams from spring 1985 for the World Dream Bank.
Then I bike to the gym and start working out. But suddenly my guts say "I'm still convalescing--quit NOW."
Biking on north, I get hit by a van! I was in the crosswalk, had the right of way, but this guy just barreled around a corner making a right turn, and didn't even look. I'm rattled and angry, though unhurt. The bike's fine. I head on.
I'm heading for a therapy session. I've come to expect drama on the way--various kinds of sabotage--but it's been years since my inner saboteurs caused an accident on the way there, to stop me! If it hadn't been so clearly the other guy's fault, not self-sabotage, I'd think this session's about to break something serious loose.
Maybe it will. I find myself talking of a recent call from my sister Miriel. My mom told her (but never told me) that my uncle Mac was loved and wanted, but my mom just plain wasn't. Not just stuck with a dominating mom, but truly unloved--and watching her brother, she had to conclude it was pure sexism. Miriel said "Mom sees male privilege everywhere and takes it personally."
It explains a lot. She intruded on me, monitored me, was careful and critical in a way she wasn't with my sisters. Revenge for her privileged brother? She made very sure I wouldn't grow up spoiled like Mac. And, let's be charitable, she wanted her daughters to grow up feeling loved and valued, as she wasn't. But favoring them crippled me--as she'd been crippled.
The damage was quite specific. My mom's smart, socially alert, quite intuitive in other areas; so when she selectively ignored my boundaries, my protests, my feelings, I thought I must be REALLY bad at expressing myself! Or that I was deluded about my own feelings, and my mom saw through my self-delusion. At last I gave up trying to express feelings at all, and turned quiet and reserved. You could say cold. Feelings never paid off--ignored at best, criticized at worst. A previous therapist saw my coldness as armor in the face of harassment at school--I got beat up a lot. But the roots were earlier, and closer to home.
To this day, I often don't bother expressing my wants or feelings. Feel I'm no good at it and I'll be ignored even if I do. But I was raised on false feedback! I probably speak up more clearly than I think--when I try.
Exhausted by the revelations, I'd like to go home, but I have an appointment for allergy shots too. Bike on to the health clinic. Then swing downtown to pick up slides of my new paintings, though by now I'm really drained. This new lab's prices are higher, but so's the quality--not a bad slide in the batch.
Coming home, I nearly get hit again, and this time it's my bad judgment. No, fatigue! A year's worth of events crammed into one afternoon...
Twins about twelve years old arrive from the beach. When we first meet, they're skinny beanpoles, but each time I run into them, only minutes or hours apart, they've grown bigger breasts and curvier hips. They're amazed at the swift changes, and tease each other--apparently they were starting to wonder if they'd ever grow anything. When I stumble on them the last time, they're leaning against a rail, topless, examining their new breasts with big happy grins. I don't think about it--just nuzzle and kiss them both. Get turned on, feel shy, make lame jokes. "You taste like sea salt!" and lick them both till their nipples stand up... all of us in bliss. Sex may have arrived late, but it's hurrying to catch up!
NOTES IN THE MORNING
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