I got up at about 8 this morning because the cats were whining to be fed and I had to pee.  Went back to bed immediately after, reveling in the warmth and comfort of the bedclothes.

Sometime in the hour that followed I began having the most horrible dream.

It was so surreal it’s difficult to organize and describe.  I was making plans with [someone- either my mom or co-worker or both] to visit my dad at Christmas[? it was wintery].  He lived in Ohio or some other midwestern state.  I think it was Ohio even if it was located slightly further south and west than it really is.  It was time to go and I wasn’t even sure if I was driving or flying.  I was packing and looking for things and needed a shower but there wasn’t time.  Then, mid-way to the airport, I realized I had paint all over my scalp.  I had been painting [a] ceiling and, looking in the mirror, it was like really heavy dandruff all on my scalp, but blue paint.  I could sort of peel it off in strips, but I really needed to shower to get rid of it all.  So I went [home, which was sort of like a trailer park or refugee camp].  There were these little boys – maybe 8-11 years old – who were coming in to the house.  The locks didn’t really function, the doors were that hollow plywood/particleboard and they didn’t really even latch.  But I was desperate to keep these kids out of our house.  It was so stressful.  Trying to hold the door closed only to have one open up a door I thought I had shut firmly.  They were clearly accustomed to making themselves at home and weren’t about to stop.  I did finally get back to the bathroom and that door, at least, kept them out.  I drew a bath and washed my hair, hoping I was getting all the paint off.

Then somehow I ended up with a few people in a gym somewhere.  We were at a card table about to play some game of cards I was not familiar with.  Some of the cards had been bent or folded in the corners for reasons unknown.  The dealer was to my right, and I got the impression he was about to explain how the game was played.  I wasn’t sure why we were there because I really needed to get back to the airport.  A couple cops showed up and I guess we were doing something illegal because they seemed to be looking for us.  All I could think was that I hadn’t done anything [that I knew of] and I just really needed to get going.  I had probably missed my flight but it was only a 4-5 hour drive and I had to get there [to see dad and his girlfriend].

At some point there was a news article online about my dad having been gunned down outside his home.  My dad had been murdered.  It was like something out of Fargo, I could see the house or barn, the flannel red & black, the snow light under the awning.  I did some more searching online just to get a second opinion.  My dad…. murdered.  I started to cry, and that’s when I woke up.

It was a little after 9.  I got up and pulled my yoga pants out of the dryer.  I put the kettle on.  I really don’t feel like going to yoga this morning.  I feel like crumpling into a little ball back in bed.  There are some very clear interpretable images in this dream.  I am determined to pick it apart and use it to help me feel better.  If I’m not going to yoga, I will at least help myself understand where the stress, pain and grief of this dream is coming from.  My tea is steeping.

It is absolutely beautiful outside today.  Mild, even a little cool this morning.  Sunshine and breeze streaming through my open windows.

On to the dream.

The anxiety, feeling rushed, is almost certainly a reflection of the anxiety I have been feeling the last few weeks and in anticipation of the next few weeks.  I just want to take things one event at a time, and find myself having to plan for several all coming back-to-back.  In the dream, I just wanted to close out the world so I could take a shower, have a moment of peace.  I’m not sure what the little boys represented.  They were mischievous, but either didn’t know or didn’t care that they were doing wrong in insisting in entering someone else’s space.  But my home, the structure that is supposed to keep out all but the invited, was not solidly built.  The doors didn’t even latch properly.  This suggests that the house must represent myself.  I am trying to keep something[s] out, I feel they don’t belong here.  Not when I have so many other things I need to do.

If I had caught my flight and made it to Ohio, would I have seen dad before he died?  Would I have been killed too?  Or would we have gone somewhere and have missed the killer[s] entirely.  I don’t know.  Maybe the plane would have crashed.  The point is that in the midst of my frantically rushing and yet not actually attempting to get to the place I was supposedly frantically trying to get to (attending the card game instead), the entire purpose of my frantic rushing was lost.  What this suggests to me is that I need to remember to breathe.  To take what is in front of me and not panic about the rest.  With everything going on in the atheist group, I’m finding it more and more difficult to do that.  I have a rash on my chin that mom suggested was probably brought on by stress.  And she’s probably right.  In trying to accommodate all these “obligations” (as I see them) I am running myself down, not giving myself the care, nurture and attention I need.  I am becoming depressed, my sink full of dishes, clean laundry piled on the chair in the living room for probably a month now.  I feel out-of-control and so am asserting control over one of the few things I can: my household.  By neglecting it.

Poor, dear m E.  I want to brush my teeth, change out of this shirt that smells like mildew, take my drugs and maybe fold some laundry.  So I think I will.  After breathing for a few.

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