Funks, Shopping and Dream Intrepretation for Dummies
So after work, I treated myself to a nice sushi dinner (man, I miss my sushi half-priced happy hour place), and decided on a whim to go to the mall and treat myself some more.
I was feeling really funky and needed a lift. So, I found an amazing, flattering dress from Loft, a cute pair of shorts for the summer from H&M an awesome pair of pants that look like I tend to hang out at Bazaars in Marrakesh also from H&M, and the Jimmy Choo fragrance rollerball (when you want to be somebody else, sometimes just smell different) and my favorite French face mist from Sephora. Oh, and a lemonade.
It was a splurge. I can admit. But it was nice. When I got home, I took a long shower and burned incense and put on fresh sheets.
I tried to do all of the simple things I know make me feel good.
When I went to sleep last night, I had three dreams. But I remember two of them. In the second dream, I appeared to be on a college Real World-type show. I wasn’t really getting along with any of my roommates who all had two or three pets, which drove me nuts. I kept explaining over and over that I didn’t have a problem with animals, but they were too big and too many.
It seemed like I was the nerd of the group and the other girls claimed I didn’t have a big butt. I know those simple chicks were lying. But I did manage to connect with a very cool male roommate, who happened to be familiar with the area and he and I would sneak off and just visit the town and look at the old buildings. Something tells me we were in Louisiana or Savannah. The vibe was hot and humid and sexy and warm. There were gardens and old buildings, the pace was slow. He explained to me history we laughed and walked arm-in-arm. He made me feel not like the unlikable nerd of the house, but quite beautiful. I felt this energy rushing through me. He was calm and cool and he didn’t have to say it, but I knew he liked me too. I knew he wanted to protect me and show me a world greater than the one I was clumsily trying to navigate, frustrated and unsure of myself.
That’s all I remember.
The second dream, I was in Greece. That’s for sure. Me and a Howard classmate, who I currently admire professionally were racing through the streets in a tiny, yet powerful red sports car. I was leaning on his arm as he drove and we darted in and out of these massive columns and long-standing monuments of Greece. I hate when men drive too fast, darting in and out of traffic. But for some reason, I enjoyed this. In Greece, it was awesome. Again, I felt flirty and sexy and completely alive. I felt like I could feel every atom, every bit of water and oxygen and blood flowing through my body. Oddly enough, I knew the person I was having this moment with had to be a metaphor, because I don’t really see myself with this person in real life, but being with him in that moment, felt completely correct.
I woke up to one of my best friends texting me. Then I realized it was 8 a.m. I leave my house for work at 8 a.m. I overslept, I was late. Three days of rain. Three days of dismalness.
I found myself rushing around the house and managed to get myself together in a span of ten minutes.
The whole way to work (about an hour of driving) I kept thinking about those dreams.
In both of those dreams, I was totally in love. In both of those dreams, I felt safe with the person I was with. I was able to let go and let them show me new worlds and I was happy. There was something familiar about each guy, even though they were both different, but the feeling was the same. There was joy. There was an appreciation for the moment as it was happening. Nothing else mattered. I wasn’t thinking about the future, I damn sure wasn’t thinking about the past. I forgot about all of the things I tend to find wrong with myself and I let myself be the woman who those men saw.
But then I panicked while on my way to work.
What did those dreams really mean? What was going on in my subconscious? Was it telling me the kind of man I really wanted and needed? The kind I’m truly yearning for?
The other piece of the puzzle was how easy it felt when I was with those dream guys. Love was coming out of my pores.
I wasn’t questioning anything. It was just happening.
Anything they would have asked me to do, I’m quite certain I would have done it.
I had already had a tiny anxiety attack at work yesterday in which I had to get up from my desk and take a walk in the rain to calm myself. I couldn’t put myself through that again.
I nearly want to cry right now, because I was reminded, if not but for a moment how that felt. I miss that feeling.
I keep on tricking myself into wanting a mature, stable, practical love. A love that is safe.
But love isn’t really safe. Not all the time anyway.
Love is a fucking risk.
As we get older, we get less reckless. We are super aware of our limitations, and history and failures and success tend to dictate how we proceed. We take fewer risks.
We do that with love too. We train ourselves to believe all sorts of stuff to be with who we think we should, and to talk us out of being with people who we think we shouldn’t be with. We get lost.
Our pain, our pain, it messes with us the most. Fear of pain drives us to be horribly safe, and even with in the confines of the safety prison we’ve built for ourselves. We’ve managed to be just as miserable. We have no cuts, no bruises, no stories. Yet, we suffocate.
I am suffocating. Right now. I am. It’s hard to fall asleep at night. It’s hard to stay awake during the day. I ache to be free. I want to go away for six months, travel, write, make bad art, drink wine, make love. Sing in a band and do the bass player, then write a song about what a ho he is. Wear sunglasses and sundresses with no panties. Wear long braids that I can feel on my back when I get out of the shower and swing them around. Just live. I don’t want to worry about bills, or love or falling in love or getting hurt or being alone, or being confused and neurotic, or being lonely, or choosing the right path, or being better.
I want to be someplace else. I want to be somebody else, but still me. Sometimes I want to be the spunky little kid I was. Sometimes, I want to be the fierce teenager who did everything. She sang, she played sports, she served the community, she was a nerd. Sometimes, I want to be a college student testing out my independence, partying, staying up all night long with my new friends talking about ridiculous things, then serious things, then studying and achieving.
I’m at a crossroads. There’s who I was, who I am and who I’m going to be. It’s getting so hard to see sometimes who I’m going to be especially based on who I was and who I am right now. I used to be able to see it so clearly.
The Choking Kind. Joss Stone