dreams


pawleys

I have a separate dream blog but the dream I just awoke from was so powerful and revealing I have to share here. Basically I was back in South Carolina at the beach with friends, old and new. Lifetime friends, a new man who was extremely hot and promising.. indeed the dream was sex filled and left me longing upon the several wakings I had during the night… I also woke up crying a couple of times. The South Carolina coast, Pawley’s Island, Litchfield Beach and Murrel’s Inlet in particular, are the most beautiful, peaceful and genteel places on earth. Right here in the old USA. I must admit I say that having never traveled outside the US other than to Canada and Mexico. At any rate, having grown up vacationing at  those ” elegantly shabby” beach towns I have a special place in my heart for them. Although development is continuously threatening to encroach, last time I checked (and it’s been a few years)  the beaches remained pretty under-developed and natural.  Clean sand, warm water in the summer, flat, rock free beaches. I mention rock free cause here in Washington the beaches are brutally unfriendly with their rocks, boulders and frigid waters. Pretty yes, but not meant for swimming or getting in to and having the sensual experience of being in the water, being with the water and the waves… at least not for this east coast native.

In my dream coastal towns of SC, the inlets have marsh grasses, crabs, fish, shrimp. Long docks out into the waterway where you can sit in the little gazebos at sunset and tie chicken necks to a long string, drop them in the water and come up with a crab dinner in about a half hour.  In the morning, take the shrimp nets and drag them through the more shallow waterways and have a fresh shrimp dinner after an afternoon of “heading” them in the shade of  a huge moss draped oak tree.  Take a jon boat to one of the small  inland waterway islets and sit in the silence with nothing but ocean birds and waves lapping at the pure white sand.  Get a hammock and a screened porch and have a cold beer at sunset.  It’s pretty much paradise as I recall.

But I digress. The dream was the usual combo platter of me looking for love, looking for a coffee cup and coffee, looking for a private place to shower (we were all staying in the large, luxurious but still a lovely kind of rustic beachfront house of my childhood friend Christina) and there I was  looking , looking, longing. At one point my friend Barb and I were in some public waterfront place , a marina perhaps, and looked out the window where a crowd had gathered to watch a spectacularly weird occurrence of a huge school of dolphins swimming in the canal out front while the Seattle Mariners and The Sounders where also doing some choreographed routine along the bank of the canal. The Mariners, the Sounders and Dolphins!!! All at once?? I had to have pictures, but had a hard time capturing the dolphins on camera, they were always just out of my lens view. Why a baseball team and soccer team from Seattle were in there,  I have no idea. I don’t even go to the games or consider myself a fan in any way .

Bottom line. The coast of SC is where I have always planned to retire. My life is currently at a crossroads. I woke up mumbling and crying “I have to go back. I have to go back.” As in, I have to leave Seattle and return to my home. I think I do.  This could be part of the alcohol free, new antidepressant, good night’s sleep cocktail I am enjoying, but I think not. I think my core psyche comes out when I’m not smacking it down nightly. This is just the tip of the iceberg.

Now I must start looking at how to realize the dream of heading to Pawley’s Island. The only thing I have in Seattle is a job (a hot commodity these days, I know), a few friends and a reputation. Stagnant. Inertia. Much work to do.

dream

She woke from her fevered sleep and looked around the room. All was dark. Still. Unfamiliar. Was she dreaming or awake? Always hard to tell in these early morning hours. Then she felt him beside her, his leg draped lightly across her thigh. For a minute there was something else,  pushing against her as she lay on her side. She pushed back with her hips and met it, inviting it to penetrate her. She could feel herself opening to it, willing it to come inside. Now… just. there.

The light changed.  She turned onto her back and opened her eyes. It was gone. He was gone.  She was alone on her tiny mattress on the floor.  The rats  in the next room scratched and gnawed  in their cage, crazy with the  futility of struggling against the wheel that had been clamped immobile for the night so she could sleep without the constant screech of metal on metal as they bounded forever to nowhere.  At the foot of the mattress the little dog’s paws trembled as he dreamed of running, chasing something he could never quite catch.

Throwing the covers off,  she crawled to the coffee table and retrieved her cell phone to check the time. 3:40 am.  It was a dream. She wanted more.  Making her way back to the mattress she settled again on her side as the dog repositioned himself under the quilt at her feet, his warm breath against her toes.  Her breath fell into rythm with his and she drifted off to sleep.

OK.. time for another installment in the I LOVE BEING A LIBRARIAN saga (that’s Sherriff Andy Taylor’s girlfriend Helen Krump up there if you didn’t recognize her).  We have a patron who I have named Fart Man. He is in the library every day (for the past 10 years) and farting the whole time he is in here. It is totally disgusting. He lives very close to the library, so it’s not like he has to hang out in here all day spreading his farts around… he could do it at home before he comes in….. He is an old hippie who probably eats a lot of beans and subscribes to the notion that farting is healthy. “Free farters”, I call these types. I think one should fart if one feels the need, just not continuously and in public and when  not in the restroom. Fart Man started my day off on a bad note.

Next a lady came to the desk and asked me to tell a man who was using his laptop and talking on his cell phone to please stop talking on his cell phone because he’d been on for like an hour droning on about some business deal. Of course, I did ask him to take it outside because that’s what I’m supposed to do. He was not a reall asshat about it. But then, about 30 minutes later another patron, a male, came to the desk and asked me to ask THE SAME GUY to quit eating nuts in the library.  Of course, you’re not supposed to eat in the library but eating some nuts is not a real offense to me. I punted. I made my clerk go over and tell him to cease and desist on the nut chomping. I couldn’t face going over to him and correcting his behavior again… why? I’m a whimp I guess.

A funny question but highly relevant during Banned Books Week:  An older gentleman asked me if there was a list of books that were attempted to be banned by “Sister Sara”  !!!! See link in my blogroll.

Then, the highlight of my day, my week, my life (??) came in the door.  A guy who’s been flirting quite heavily with me for the past few weeks. And he’s pretty hot. And interesting. Artist, musician, oenophile, clothing designer, looks a lot like Lenny Kravitz, extremely self-confident. He is moving to California tomorrow. Of course. But he asked if we could get together tonight, his last night in town, and “make a memory”….  that is some crazy shit.  Crazy shit. I declined but told him I’d send him an imaginary memory in an e-mail soon.  I wonder where that would have gone if he wasn’t moving…  at least it bolstered my flailing, gasping, staggering self -esteem.   Oh how we love working in the library.

I really don’t remember what I dreamt last night. I went to bed with a couple of glasses of wine in me, a heavy dose of cough syrup for this bloody cough that is killing me, and a valium. I had to sleep in the upright position so the lungs wouldn’t fill up with whatever it is they’re trying to purge during the night. Amazingly, I slept pretty well. And I woke up with a feeling of strange clarity about my situation. My situation is complicated on all levels but I think if I tackle one little chunk at a time I can figure it out. Sometimes being sick can be a gift. It can take you off the treadmill and plunk you down on the side of the circus road and force you to stop the madness. I’m not saying I’m mentally cured. Just saying I think I have a clue about what I need to do now.

this is kinda old news but i love this picture.  St. Obama can even make emo folks have hope.  Now that’s sayin something.

 

Where DOES it all end? Obviously it ends after all is said and done. After the fat lady sings. When pigs fly, when hell freezes over, when you move into upper management, when you’re marinating in soil and worms, when you’ve moved into shart mode, the jig is up, the farm is bought, the hellish sensation that you’ve been there before sets in, tax season grasps you by the balls and nails you to the desktop, the seratonin uptake inhibitor is neither uptaking nor inhibiting, in fact you are exhibiting on the downbeat, and the symphony is playing on and on. You’re toast. You’re so yesterday. Your mold is showing, your eyes have seen the glory of the coming, you bet the farm and your dog died too. You’ve gone to the dirt archives. The cat is on the bed. You’ve put the smack down on it all, you eat the big one, you eat the little ones too, and then they eat you. Repeat.

I have some good girlfriends, mostly younger female friends. And for some reason they seem to think I know one goddamned thing about life. They’re going through divorces, frustrating singles life, etc. And it’s true…. I’ve been through all that. So I might be a good source of information about how it all goes…. BUT,,,, .but… but…. I still haven’t found any answers. I have not a clue. All I know is that (i could say here some homily but i won’t) …. all I know is that …. life continues to be an amazing thing.

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